Operation Spiral
by Numbuh Tri-Pi
Summary: Acronym: Specially Practicable Intolerance Re-Accuses Lies. A novel-style fanfic that takes place right after Interviews.
1. Prologue, Operation The-New

Now begins

Operation T.H.E.-N.E.W

The

Highly

Expected

New

Entry

Waxes

Writing operative: Numbuh Tri-Pi

Boredom was the only thing on their minds. An overwhelming boredom that had long come over every child in the room. Leaving was out of the question. Anything that would be interesting or inspiring, anything that wasn't homogenous to the whole, anything that offended the incomprehensible standards of the overlords who controlled the realm they were in. Wonder, imagination, fantasy, anything childlike, was forbidden by unspoken and rigidly enforced doctrine. Every one of them was subjected to a universe of nothingness possible only to a child. They could not introvert themselves. Couldn't take refuge in their own thoughts. Such a thing was impossible. For they were at the age where their only proper option was to take in the outside world. To accumulate experience. But they were trapped in this place. A place where they were expected to sit, and not stand up, to listen, and not speak, to believe, to submit, to obey.

Indeed, class was in session.

They were all presented with one, uniform option. It was given to all of them without distinction. This option was to commit their brains to something they did not care about, nor knew any reason to care about. Their only incentive for doing this was that they were scored, and made to believe that this score was a measure of their worth.

Why?

Well, they were not expected to ask such questions. So it was that the kids were all subjected to a rigged coin. If the coin landed heads, they got boredom, if it landed tails, they got boredom. They did not like it. But they kept quiet, kept obedient out of a sense of moral obligation. An undeserved, misguided trust toward the adults who oversaw them.

Time slipped forward. The fluorescent lights above their heads buzzed. The scratching of pencils on paper could vaguely be heard. The brick walls around them did nothing, stoically, they refused to bend, refused to break, refused to drop the load they supported.

Refused to sympathize with the kids they surrounded.

Most of the children kept their heads down. It was to concentrate on the papers on their desks, among other reasons. They were resigned to their boredom. Content to just wait it out. They didn't enjoy spending so much time at such a place doing such things. But they saw no other choice. There was nobody they could appeal to or negotiate with. Not good, not evil, not philosophy, not their parents nor their teachers. They were powerless, and did not even have the courage to struggle.

A resounding crash echoed through the classroom. Natural sunlight pouring in. Everyone looked toward the source of the noise to see what had made it. What they saw was an enormous hole in the wall. The new view it presented to the outside was blocked by dust, and a silhouette. The dust cleared, and the silhouette took form.

It was a kid, just like them, and she was standing atop a strange vehicle made of barrels and duct tape, with trash can lids for wheels. The kid had dark skin, and wore a blue shirt with white stripes at the sides, completed by a large, red cap that concealed her eyes. She held an elongated object in her hands of the same architecture as the vehicle. A symbol was emblazoned on this vehicle. Three simple letters:

K.N.D.

The kid pointed the object in her hands upward. It fired a shot into the ceiling. Three other kids, who were similarly equipped, formed into the classroom from the outside to stand in front of the hole in the wall. "Kids Next Door!" Shouted the kid atop the vehicle. The students erupted into applause. At this simple announcement. They stood up and raised their heads and threw objects into the air. "Class is now adjourned!" Said the kid atop the vehicle. The celebration continued.

"No, it is not!" interjected another voice from the back. The students turned to see who spoke, although they already knew who it was. It was their teacher, a middle aged woman. She wore half-circle shaped glasses, and her face seemed to be under permanent tension, one could easily tell by looking at it that she seldom smiled. "Class does not adjourn for another four hours," she continued, indicating the clock on the wall, which in turn indicated the time to be around 4:00 PM.

The kid atop the vehicle leaned back, swinging her weapon around to the back of her head, hanging her arms behind it. "Listen to me carefully, lady." She leaned forward to emphasize her next words, "Go tell the principal that Numbuh Five wants to talk to him."

"This school doesn't negotiate with brat kids." Replied the teacher, her face indignantly scrunched up.

The door to the classroom burst open, several adults came into the room, shuffling past a large crowd of kids who were gathering outside. They looked toward the new hole in the wall, reacting in the manner of someone accustomed to power of a petty nature. One of them stepped forward, his demeanor was serious and dire. "You kids are in a world of trouble, put down those.. things, and come with me, we're going to call your parents." He turned around and walked briskly toward the door, fully expecting the kids to follow.

"No." said the kid atop the vehicle.

The adult turned around and walked up close to the kid, imposing himself on her smaller figure. "What did you just say?"

"I think she wants to negotiate with you." Interjected the classroom teacher. The man turned to face the teacher when she spoke, blatantly ignoring the kid. He turned back, looking downward to face the kid again. "Is that it? You want to have a talk with me?"

"No," replied the kid. "I'm not here to negotiate with you." She lifted her head, revealing her eyes from under her hat. "I'm here to put an end to your tyranny!" When she surveyed the room and spoke, she seemed bigger than the adult, bigger than everyone else in the room. "This school has been terrorizing its kids for too long. Lower its hours and homework load back to reasonable levels. Recess, PE, and all extracurricular activities are to be reinstated. Lunch time is to last longer than two minutes. These are the demands of the Kids Next Door, and if they are not met, we will arrange a boycott of every one of your students by helping them to fake sickness." She grinned, "not one of them will attend your school."

"You little brat!" The principal grabbed the kid, but ended up grabbing nothing. She nimbly jumped downward between his legs, then put her hands on the floor, kicking her feet up into the principal's hiney. He lost balance, and tumbled over, letting out a whine as he fell. The classroom laughed hysterically, as did the kids out in the hall. The kid, who called herself Number Five of the Kids Next Door, stood back up. The three other kids, who had followed her in, formed up around her, blatantly ignoring the uproar. "Alright, guys, let's go over the plan one more time." She spoke to the three of them at once. "I'm going to go for the intercom. Numbuh Two." She said to a chunky boy who wore a flight hat with the number 2 engraved in it, complete with goggles. "You're going to follow me up in the Dasher.* Numbuh Four." She said toward a short kid in an orange sweatshirt, whose straight, blond hair formed a bowl over half of his head. "Take out the faculty. Numbuh Three." She said toward a slender girl in a green shirt with sleeves longer than her arms, whose face wore a constant expression of simultaneous detachment and enthusiasm. "Make sure the way is clear for everyone to leave the school when I give the announcement, chock the doors, and take care of the hall monitors, cause when I give the announcement, the halls will become a madhouse. When that happens." She said to all of them.

"We blend in with all the students and walk right out the front door." Said Numbuh 2

"That's right." Said Numbuh five, "is everybody on with the plan?" They all nodded. "Good, in that case." She pointed her arms diagonally upward. "Kids Next Door, battle stations!"

They spread out, moving with the drive and efficiency of a military unit. Numbuh 2 opened a hatch on the vehicle, nimbly slipping his large frame into the cockpit.

Numbah Four stopped, turning back toward Numbah Five, "Our first mission without Numbuh One.." His voice was very controlled, but his accent was still distinctly Australian.

Numbuh Five took out a pair of black sunglasses, looking at them soberly. "Let's make him proud, Wally."

He nodded in reply, and turned back around. Now wearing a big, giddish smile on his face, he took up a two-handled rifle that looked like

a pump made of joyces, with duct tape at the seams. "All right, you cruddy teachers! Prepare to get pasted to the floor!"

Numbuh Five took a deep breath, she bolted toward the classroom door. Right toward the crowd of kids who were still gathered outside in the hallway. Not slowing down, she fired her noisy weapon in the air repeatedly. "Alright, move! Move aside people! Clear the way!" She shouted frantically at them. It did the trick, they parted to the sides, giving her a wide space to run past them. She struck out of the classroom, running full pelt through the halls. She jumped up, angling her feet backward, they landed on the top of the Dasher, which had come up behind her. The speedy vehicle pushed her feet forward, restoring her balance. "Where to, Abbey?" Shouted Numbuh two from the cockpit.

"Straight ahead." Replied Numbah Five without looking down. "That's why we entered through that classroom, it's at a perfect angle for the all terrain mode."

"Are you sure you want me to do that?"

"I'll be alright."

Numbuh Two paused for a second, "Numbah Five..."

"What?"

"You just spoke in the first person."

The air blew hard against her at the high speed, yet her face suddenly felt hot. She hectically started scratching the back of her neck, in an effort to find something else to pay attention to. "Um, yeah, well, I guess I must be growing up."

"Nah, you're moving on, not growing up."

She banged on the hatch of the Dasher, "Come on, Hoagie, all terrain mode this thing already!"

"Yes, sir!" Said Numbuh Two, smiling to himself. The Dasher fired up rocket boosters at it's rear and picked up speed. Numbah Five tapped the heels of her shoes, and they sprouted tiny, metallic claws from their sides and bottom, which dug into the roof of the Dasher. She bent down, preparing for what was to come. The Dasher leaned back, letting air flow under it's angled belly, this granted it a small amount of lift. Combined with it's light weight and extreme speed, it began to hover over the ground. The trash can lids, which had served as wheels, turned horizontal, becoming stabilizers.

"You've really outdone yourself, Numbuh Two." Said Numbuh Five.

"On the Dasher? Or do you mean your new shoes?"

"Both, Hoagie, both."

"We're almost to the central area," said Numbuh Two, "this area is loaded with booby traps."

"And every one of them relies on pressure pads in the floor, we're fine as long as you don't slow down." They passed by a large concentration of penal rooms, which distinctly contained large blackboards filled with mindless repeats of the same sentences. Some of the rooms even had cots. Numbuh Five sighed, "It's a good thing we came when we did."

"I can't believe they did this." Said Numbuh Two.

"It ends today, we're here!"

They came up on a door, A sign on the door labeled it as the intercom room. As the Dasher closed in on it, Numbuh Five took an object out of a side compartment, it was a school zone sign, freshly picked from the ground. "Pick me up in five minutes," she said to Numbah Two as she threw the sign like a javelin at the door. The sign buried itself into the door, and she leaped toward it as the vehicle veered off to avoid a collision without losing speed. She landed on her feet atop the sign. She was right up next to the door, without touching the floor. She moved her foot to atop the lever knob, turning it open. Holding the knob down, she gripped the door frame and pulled it open. The door swung into the room. Her school zone sign, still impaled in the door, went with it into the room. She spotted the intercom in the back, it would be an easy jump. She hopped on the sign, bending it, then her knees down. She made a leap to the table, flipping and landing on the table with acrobatic grace. She turned to the intercom. "Time to solve everything, as the Kids Next Door always do."

* * *

In a school without freedom. An establishment that had treated it's charges like livestock, like something to only collect more of. A school whose students were subjected to vast amounts of nothing in the name of security. An order where anyone different, anyone who refused to grow up early, anyone who chose to act like a child. Was penalized with boredom and alienated with labels.

The Kids Next Door came to this school.

A message rang throughout the entire building. The children in class had a special place in their attention for a message of this kind. One word was all they heard, all they needed to hear. In a state where their malefaction became unbearable, their childlike spirit railing against it, but held in check by fear and authority. One, simple word, from a child like them, from a source that had once been a linchpin of the authority that oppressed them. Gave them the release, the courage, that they needed.

"Go."

They went. Every last kid, sick of the tyranny of their school, stood up and left. Their teachers could not stop them, as they were out in the hallway, pasted to the floor. The hall monitors were all diverted to the cafeteria, munching on a pile of candy that had magically appeared there. Even the doors stood out of their way. As they crowded out of the school, the intercom spoke again. "When you're outta here, head to the park for your sick kits, you won't have to return until they fix their policy." The kids all cheered, The intercom continued, "The Kids Next Door will see to it that those of you with perfect attendance will not have a blemish on your records. You stayed for more than the full seven hours and that's enough."

As the students all crowded out of the school, one of the children stopped at the intersection just adjacent to the door. She waited, letting other kids pass by her. Another kid, whose motions rang of the same purpose, appeared at the intersection. He leaned against the corner, not talking to the other. Then yet another appeared, she looked at the other two, one at a time. Without saying anything, they all nodded to each other. They walked toward the exit together. One of the kids held a school zone sign slung over her shoulders, she spoke first. "Go on ahead of me, I'll meet you at the treehouse." Understanding that the moment they were in spoke for itself, they didn't reply. They went ahead. Through the doors, the bus train awaited them. It was a massive, yellow machine made up of countless linked passenger compartments. The kids all boarded it, knowing that if they came home on it, their parents would think they didn't ditch school. "All aboard!" shouted Numbuh Two from the engine compartment up front.

Numbuh Five didn't board the train with her comrades and their beneficiaries, She walked to the side along the train. Coming across a narrow post hole, she rammed her school zone sign back into it. She took out a large, red, permanent marker. Facing the school she had just freed, and the sign she had just returned to it, she wrote a new word on the sign. Above the words school, and zone she imprinted the ultimate word of rebellion.

That word, was no.

End transmission.

*D.A.S.H.E.R.

Daring Attack Sled Harries Enemy Reach


	2. Chapter 1, Operation Tattle

now begins

Operation T.A.T.T.L.E.

The

Aftermath

To

The

Legendary

Earthling

Writing operative: Numbuh Tri-Pi

Easily describable as neatly arranged, there lay an area which boasted planned out and well maintained asphalt roads that formed a seemingly endless web of squares. Parallel to this web was an abstract web of conformity among the residents of this area. This web of conformity was intensified by their close proximity to one another, their habit to constantly socialize. And perpetuated by the neutral, uneventful contentment of their daily lifestyle. It was because of this web, this chain reaction of conformity, that every part of this area became interchangeable on the surface. The squares formed by the linear, intersecting roads were divided into smaller squares of private property. Each of which had one, average sized house in the middle, surrounded by grass. The blocks were at a slightly higher elevation than the roads that divided them. Each block was like an island of grass in the otherwise completely artificial land.

Each section of grass looked exactly the same as the other: thick, healthy, but repeatedly cut to be no taller than a few centimeters. This was due to the residents. When the grass grew, they cut it. When their houses looked worn, they painted them over again. No resident of this place would accept their own small slice of it being any different than the rest. The rest, in turn, wouldn't accept being any different than the rest of the rest. And on it went. This hive trend was ingrained into the minds of the residents. Resulting in the epitome of xenophobia. Different came to mean humiliating. Different meant rocking the boat. Different meant complicated. And complicated was uncomfortable.

If somebody who lived at this place decided to let their lawn grow, or become dry and unhealthy, that constituted different. It meant different if somebody built a home anyway other than the standard. This standard was a wood frame house with shingled roof and plastic siding, no more than two stories tall, with white painted drywall as the walls and ceiling inside. If a home did not meet these criteria, it was different.

If somebody built a house that was tall, and narrow. A house that reached for the sky, then it was different. If a house buried itself, layering its stories downward rather than upward, then it was different. If there was a house made of logs or metal, glass or concrete, marble or stone, polyester or mortar, tact or tinkering, then it was different. And different was unacceptable. Different was thrown and filtered out.

A state of competence and contentment perceived as purity. This place was known as the suburbs.

These particular suburbs contained an anomaly in its skyline; something truly exceptional. It was tall and conspicuous. Varied, and grand in scale, it rose out through the roof of a suburban home like an adventurous spirit breaking free of monotony. It was a treehouse. Segmented and varied, it was matched in scope only by the tree it was built around.

The treehouse was as many. Wherever there be a strong branch, there was a structure built on it accordingly. An uncountable amount of bridges, ramps, and tubes connected the treehouse segments through thin air. But the tree was enormous. It spread up and out, utilizing its monopoly on the local sunlight to the fullest. It had expanded systematically and efficiently. It was a tree that embodied the plant kingdom's variation of ambition to the fullest. The treehouse was limited to what the tree could support, but that was not a real limitation, rather, it was an impossible standard to reach for.

The treehouse benefited greatly from this. It was more than just a house per its name, with its only novelty being the fact that it was suspended in a tree. It was much more than this. It had terraces, which presented a birds-eye view of the surrounding area in all directions. Dozens of rope bridges, which ran through both the clear and bowels of the immense, spherical bush of the tree. They were supported by branches above and below, and had numerous wooden platforms which served as junctions. Walking along them produced the effect of navigating a sizable woodland.

The structures were more than just blank, wooden rooms inside. Some were tall, some were wide. Some had windows, and some had no walls. One of them was gigantic, with an equally wide hole on the side of it that faced outward. This opening was high in the air, only things capable of flight could enter or exit through it. Above this artificial alcove, there were a sequence of small domes, all supported by the same small, but expansive web of limbs.

The hulking prow of a metallic ship could be seen plainly at the center of the branches. Other protrusions included a large cannon-like rod that was mounted on one of the lower structures. And at the center of it all was a tower that rose as the highest point of the whole tree. Its roof was flat with railings along the edges. There was a metal framed glass dome in the middle of it. Atop this dome was a signaling dish that was angled sharply upward, Meant to send and receive signals to and from outer space. An emblem was painted on its central tower. It was three large capital letters; KND.

A young girl stood on the roof of the tower. Her silhouette leaned on the railing, staring meaningfully off in the distance. The sun was low in the sky, its light beautifully tinted. She saw it, but it was not the focus of her attention. She was looking downward, at a pair of sunglasses. She turned them over, and again in her hand. The lifted her head up, skipping the sun to look up at the sky. "Not a day goes by," she said to herself, "that I don't think about following you up there." She kept looking up, intently, focusing. Her neck got tired, she dropped her head back down. It stayed there for a bit.

Then she took a deep breath. She put the sunglasses away, and stood up straight. She rested her hands on the railing. Her posture, standing vertically and resting her hands distanced evenly from each other, produced the effect that she was resting them, not just on the railing, but also the entire treehouse beneath it.

Looking straight over, she at last took notice of the beautiful sunrise. A smile found it's way to her face. "dagnabbit, I've been being way too..." She leaned forward, pushing herself upward from the railing. She put one foot atop it, and pushed herself up to stand straight on it. Not inhibited by the sheer drop right in front of her. She spread her arms out, just as a pleasant breeze hit her. She lifted her nose and took a deep whiff of it. Her shoes dug their claws into the railing, ensuring it wouldn't blow her off balance.

Minutes passed, and the sun rose a bit higher in the sky, quickly losing it's appealing color. Bored of looking at it, she heel-spun sideways and walked along the top of the railing. She felt amazed at how smart her shoes were, that they knew exactly when to grip and when to let go. When she first began wearing them, she walked stiffly and carefully, in anticipation that sooner or later they had to make a mistake, and unexpectedly start gripping when she didn't want them to. But this never happened. Number Two built them, she thought, was he just that good?

Coming to a corner of the railing, she heel-spun sideways on it and kept walking forward with expert balance. Or maybe, her mind wandered, it was because he knew her, extremely well. Her mind began wandering into areas she seldom tread. Her thoughts slipped loose into an area of her mind that she labeled with words like 'embarrassing' and 'yuck' and 'I will never become this.' It began making her head feel harmlessly warm and dense. But her inhibition reared it all back, "no, no, no," she said to herself repeatedly, in sync with tapping both her fists on her forehead. She stuck her face out, slightly but stiffly. "I won't become like my big sister." She stopped, holding still for a long moment. Her face began twitching, "My stupid big sister!" She snapped, "with all her 'whiii'" She made mocking hand gestures to herself, "and all her 'bihhh' and all her 'grrrrr' and all her..."

Her head turned to face left, then it snapped right. She hopped off the railing and ran up to the glass dome. She grasped at the glass with her fingertips trying with deliberate inefficacy to grab and squeeze it. "with all her 'Ooh, guys, guys, guys' that's all she ever thinks about..." Her voice degenerated into annoyed grumbling. She had entered a state of mind in which she was open, expressive, with the things on top of her head. A mindset which was impossible if there were any other people present. Eventually, it all worked its way out of her vents, and she felt normal again.

She heard a sound come from below. She recognized it as the sound of the treehouse's entrance hall being bypassed, in the usual manner.

Three kids walked up a ramp that spiraled upward. Suspended in the air, the rising walkway presented a clear vantage of all their surroundings. To their right was the open air, to their left, a tree trunk of such a size that it made them feel like ants. As they advanced up the walkway, the chunky Number Two brought up the front, unfazed by the rapidly rising altitude. Number Three was trailing behind him, walking tentatively and hugging to the left, near the tree where it felt safer. Number Four brought up the rear. He walked casually, with his hands in his pockets. His head was fixed rightward, looking out at the scene as he rose up the ramp, and perceiving it for the diorama it was.

A morning breeze made a pass on them uninhibited. They were already higher than the suburban homes that covered the surrounding landscape. The wind spun its directions freely around the trunk of the tree. The kids felt the cold wind, they were up high, and their position presented only two directions to go. Normally these factors would convey a sense of foreboding that would cause them to lose the will to continue what they were doing.

But it was the early morning. They were subject to a unique optimism they didn't comprehend, and never felt at any other time of day. Combined with the fact that what they were doing carried a special sense of purpose. It was something they were each invested to in their own personal way. The height, the wind, the dim daylight, these all became as scenery, spice, gravy that only made them enjoy their simple task even more.

A blast door awaited them at the top of the ramp. A rusty panel could be seen off to the side next to it, it had a small, round slot. Aside from this, there were no other means to interact with the looming door. They gathered around the panel. Simultaneously, the three of them lifted their right hands in a punctual manner. Then, with disciplined motion, they each wielded their hand in a ceremonial set of movements. At the end of it, they rammed their index fingers up their noses and scooped out a chunk of stuff. They each put their stuff into the slot.

The noise of a powerful machine rang out as the blast door came to life. Layer after layer split open in different directions, disappearing into the wall. "Three coming in." announced a booming computer voice as the last layer cleared, revealing a wide corridor with an arch shaped ceiling. Numbers Two, Three, and Four went through the corridor, now side by side rather than single file. The corridor was made of tightly fit wooden planks as its floor, walls, and ceiling. There were seams everywhere, many of them were shaped irregularly for rectangular wooden planks. The corridor was a gauntlet. It was lined the whole span with hidden obstacles and boobytraps that would have activated if the blast door was forced, or more people entered than unlocked it. At the end of the corridor was an upward flight of stairs. At the end of the stairs, a smaller, automatic blast door opened to to the first room of the treehouse. They stood with this door right behind them. To their right was the main trunk of the tree that went through the room. Further to the right, between the trunk and the back wall, there was a narrow opening due to there being no wall, it led to an outdoor deck that went out and disappeared to the left behind the trunk. To the kid's left was a full wall with a disorganized row of doors. Most of the doors were powered, and all of them were shaped like arches at the top. Straight ahead there was a small, half-story high deck with staircases on either side of it. It had a single, powered door up on its level. An extremely wide TV screen was mounted high on the trunk. Two quarter sphere shaped couches were formed around it.

The three of them went straight to the couches, then sat down on them. Number two slouched, with his hands behind his head and his feet on the table. Number three sat up straight, her feet hung off the couch, not touching the floor. Her hands were at her sides, pushing into the cushion. She did not lean back. Number Four had both his arms slung behind the couch, with one leg hanging off the side.

Number Four was the first to speak, "So what are we doing today?"

"I think we should wait for Number Five to get here," said Number Three.

"She's already here," said Number Two, "I saw her on the upper deck when we were approaching the tree." Number Four brought his arms up and leaned forward, "think she's got a mission lined up for us?"

"I hope it's something I can field test my new plane on," said Number Two. Number Four looked toward him, "It's only been a couple days, you've already built a new rig?"

"Well, it's still a prototype, I need to gather data from actual field use to improve it further."

He leaned back into the couch's backrest, then leaned back up again. "Hey, why not pit it against one of your older airships?"

"A sparring dogfight?"

"Yeah!"

"Who would pilot the other plane?"

"Me, of course!"

Number two started absently chewing his thumbnail, deep in consideration. "Have you ever flown before?"

"Nope!"

Number Two put his arms out, "then there's no point. I won't get any worthwhile data from an easy fight."

Number Four stood up, and began pacing with his head bent down. Numbers Two and three watched, interested. Number four hardly ever thought hard about anything, so this was an occasion not worth missing.

He stopped, and turned to face them, "what if I piloted the new model, and Numbuh Two used an obsolete junker? That would even the odds, right?"

Number two lightly slapped his own head, "Number Four, that's..."

Number Four quickly held up his hands, as if to say _hold it_. "Just hear me out, okay? If I piloted it, you would get data based on how I used it. From that, you would make it to be easier for an amateur to use."

"Why would I want that?" Said Number Two flatly.

Number Four pointed upward, "whenever we fly up to the moon base, I see a lot of the same kind of ship buzzing around it. So, I'm thinking that if you made a really good ship that was easy to use, then you could pitch the design to global command, if they accept it, and make it standard issue, then you would be helping operatives around the world by giving them all an awesome ride. Not to mention your name would be on every one they build."

Number Two walked right up to Number Four. He put his hands on the short boy's shoulders. Then his lips parted to uncover his clenched teeth, revealing them to an exaggerated degree. "Number Four, you're a genius!"

Number Four took up a cocky smile, "don't think I don't know it."

"Come on, we're going to the hangar," said Number Two as he walked past Number Four toward one of the doors.

"Wait a second, guys." Said Number Three, "you should make sure Number Five doesn't need us for anything first."

"Yeah, don't go acting on your own, that just doesn't make for good teamwork." The voice was Number Five's. Everybody turned their heads to see where it came from. She was sitting on the couch. They all jumped when they saw her there. It was only a few feet from any of them. Her arms were crossed, and she had one foot over the other on the table. Number Two raised his index finger, "looks like you just pulled an_ appearing_ act!" He laughed at his own joke. But nobody else did.

Number Five twitched slightly, "if you guys didn't notice me, how easy would it be for an adult to get the jump on you?" she said scoldingly. They all bent their heads down, feeling slightly ashamed. Number Five sighed, and then stood up, "I'm sorry, guys, I didn't mean to get on your case. I'm just worried that with Numbuh One gone, you might get careless. I just don't want anything bad to happen to you."

"Don't worry," said Number Two laughingly, eager to lighten the mood, "none of us are gonna get chrome domed." Number Five giggled as she bent her head down, her mouth formed into a tense smile "I feel so very at ease now..."

"No, really, it's true," said Number Four, "long as we got you, nothin's gonna ever keep us down!"

Number Three started coming up to her, "aww, gimmie a hug, ya big, sneaky softie!" She raised her arms.

"I'll be there whenever any of you need me." She dodged Number Three's committed hug, causing her to stumble. "But you guys all gotta look after your own selves. I can be your context-sensitive shield. But I can't be your eyes, I can't be your ears, and I can't be your survival sense."

Simultaneously, Numbers Two and Four saluted, "yes, sir! Numbuh Five, sir!" They looked at each other in surprise, then laughed together. Number Three stepped back from them slowly. She turned her head. "so, Number Five, what's on the agenda for today?"

"I'm glad you asked, Numbuh Three." She crashed back on the couch. "We take it easy."

Everyone became apprehensive, "Why no missions today?" Said Number Two.

Number Five waved it off, "I'd get us a mission if I could, but there's nothing going on in arm's reach, and global command hasn't sent anything down. Another day off won't kill us."

Numbers Two and Four grinned at each other. "We'll be at the hangar, then," said Number Two. They turned to leave. "Hold on," said Number Five, holding her hand up without looking at them. They stopped, everyone looked at her attentively. She continued, "there is one thing. It's optional, you don't need to come, but at one O'clock I'm heading up to the moon base."

"What for?" said Number Three.

Number Five paused for a moment, she knew she was stepping on fresh wounds by answering, but they had to come to peace with it sooner or later. "Numbuh One's decommissioning."

"What?" snapped Number Four, suddenly pissed, "why would they do that! He ain't thirteen, and he didn't do nothin' wrong!"

"Calm down, Wally."

"No! He's a darned hero! After everything he's done, I can't believe they have the nerve!"

"Wally," Number Five didn't raise her voice like Number Four, but it still cut him off, "that's exactly the reason they're having a decommissioning ceremony for him. When I reported his disappearance, I couldn't very well tell the truth, so I told them he fell into the giant toilet bowl. And that we searched and searched, but found no trace of him except his shades. Wally," she put her hands on his shoulders, "Nobody but us, and his parents were there when he left us. This is their own way of seeing him off."

"I see..." he calmed down, considering for a moment, "I guess it's fine, then." His face scrunched and un-scrunched. He was looking for words. Trying to get something off his chest. Then he stopped fidgeting and spoke his mind, "why don't we go up there after him?"

Their parting was still fresh in their minds. Number Four was saying what they were all thinking. "I mean, we can never see him again? Are we just supposed to accept that? Why should we? Just because? That's a stupid reason! To the inferno with the rules that say we can't!"

Number Five waited several long seconds before speaking, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the same way..." This is it, Abigail, she thought. You couldn't avoid confronting this forever. You have to be stronger now. You have to be the voice of reason, even if it's unpleasant. She spoke to everybody in the room, including herself. "The Galactic Kids Next Door could be, or not be, anywhere in the entire galaxy. Even if we had a ship that could cover that kind of distance, we wouldn't know where to even begin searching." They all took her words gracefully on the chin. Grimly, they endured its impact. But Number Five continued, "But listen to me. He's up there, fighting the good fight all across the galaxy. And it's our part to back him up here on earth. We may be separate, but we're all still part of the Kids Next Door, and We're all still fighting adult tyranny. In that sense, we're still together, tighter than ever."

She saw their faces lighting back up. Thank goodness, she thought. More than anything, she disliked seeing her friends unhappy. "Now who's coming to his decommissioning? Who wants to see the impact he left here on earth?"

"One O'clock?" Asked Number Four.

"One O'clock." She confirmed.

They all nodded, agreeing to go together.

transmission interrupted


	3. Chapter 2, Operation Tattle-Two

**Author's precommentary: This chapter is very much bigger than the previous two. And the arc isn't even complete, the next chapter is tattle-three, it'll have an altogether different acronym, though. **

**This book is going to be quite long. I plan to write into every juicy plot thread the show left untouched. Interviews brought nice closure, but it opened the way to what can easily be a whole new story, which can be vivified without even contradicting canon. **

**I can't wait 'till I reach the part where I can start making original characters.**

**No, literally, I can't wait.**

**...At all.**

**My reason for including exposition that may be redundant for people who are familiar with the source material is that I want this to be accessible to people who aren't. However, I've taken care to only do exposition on things that are relevant to this book.**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 2

now begins

Operation T.A.T.T.L.E.-T.W.O.

The

Aftermath

To

The

Legendary

Earthling

Taken

With

Objectivity

writing operative: Numbuh Tri-Pi

Once upon a faraway place, coined the world over as the moon. There grew a tree. The moon was a place that rejected all forms of life, yet this was a tree that could grow and thrive on it. Built upon the branches of the tree, there was a connected array of buildings which formed a superstructure. This structure was a diversified, airtight mountain range of shining steel towers. It was surrounded and infiltrated by transparent tubes and giant metal rings. They swirled and ebbed around, into and out of the structure, augmenting its sci-fi architecture with chaotic adornment.

This immense building rose out from the thick branches of the tree. Shining as a beacon on the otherwise gray and barren moon. Spaceships large and small swarmed and circled around this tree. The tree house was populated, not by extra terrestrials, nor even cosmonauts, but kids. Willful and courageous, but otherwise ordinary kids. Who, by the power of the greatest truth had overcome conventional law.

They possessed ships that flew with a speed to surpass boredom. Architecture designed with an ingenuity that surpassed status quo. They were all driven by a noble cause, and unified as a single organization. The nature of their cause transcended all forms of controversy or scrutiny. It simply could not be condemned by any reason. Yet still, it was significant.

Just as adult tyranny was a worldwide problem. They, the Kids Next Door, spanned the entire globe In order to combat it. It consisted of kids from every corner of the world, from every culture in the world. Their bases dotted the earth. Every one of these bases was a tree house, there were no exceptions. The KND went so far as to develop a tree that could survive on the moon in order to preserve this tradition.

This base on the moon was the central headquarters for their entire organization. Hundreds of spaceships swarmed about it. It had countless docks, hangars and airlocks through which ships of many sizes and purposes could connect to, or land inside it.

The cloud of spacecraft began to thin. They were all docking and landing at the moonbase.

One spacecraft, which came from Earth, looked completely different from all the rest. It had a long, narrow body. With the wings near the back, angling backward as they went outward from the body. It had two engines mounted on the wings. The ship had no visible cockpit. The entire front was covered with a black nosecone, held to the hull by a quickly but well done duct tape job. A row of sensor prongs were mounted on the front of the hull in a full, even circle, they were pointed straight forward, protruding, but not quite passing the tip of the nosecone.

After clearing Earth's atmosphere, the ship accelerated. It rapidly picked up speed, until it was going three times as fast. It quickly closed in on a group of bulkier, more robust ships, which were also heading to the moon base from earth. The black nosed ship wheeled upside down, going over the top of another ship, narrowly missing it. Then it went under another, effortlessly pulling a full somersault over it. It left the crowd of slower ships behind. It serpentined left and right, it then went up and down, as if testing its own maneuverability. It flew straight again, lowering the throttle on its two engines to near nothing. Top and bottom plates between its wings slid open, they moved forward, sliding under other plates. Two more propulsion engines came out of the new openings. They came out far enough that their exhausts wouldn't graze the main body, then locked in place. The two engines on the wings shut down completely. For a few seconds, the ship remained silent. Then all four engines shot up to full throttle. The Blacknose bolted forward with an enlivening lack of control.

It approached the next crowd of spaceships, which were all faster, higher performance models than those in the previous group. The blacknose passed them by without slowing down. It rapidly made more and more distance from them. They responded to this. With the pilots cocking their heads toward the showoff who passed them. Their fighter craft raised their speed substantially. Some of them deploying supplementary thrusters of their own. They closed in on the Blacknose. The kids in these craft were ace pilots who took the Blacknose showing them up as a challenge they couldn't ignore. Their race to the moonbase had begun.

The challengers quickly caught up to the Blacknose, which moved in front of one of them. It stayed directly in front of it, matching the other vessel in maneuverability and preventing it from passing. Then the Blacknose slowed down, angling itself leftward, as if stuck. The behind ship took advantage of this, it gained speed and turned right to pass. Just as the ship was about to do this, the Blacknose snapped to the right. In a tightly controlled maneuver, it flew a full circle around the other ship. The Blacknose sped ahead, leaving it in the dust.

The racing convoy of high speed ships approached the moon. They came unto another group of slower ships, which were flying within the moon's gravity well. Instead of veering clear of them, the street racers penetrated their formation. There wasn't a single collision, but they left behind a mess of confusion. Abiding by a rule that went unsaid, the racers all lowered their altitude perilously low, flying right above the surface. Every ship in this street race was designed for this kind of thing. They all flew low, having to dodge crater hills and other protrusions along the final stretch to the moonbase.

Every pilot became anxious as the glint of the moonbase became visible on the horizon. One of the ships nicked its wing on the top of a circle shaped crater hill. It span out of control and hit the ground, then it bounced back up, turning wildly, only to be slowly pulled back down by the moon's weak gravity. It bounced off into the distance.

As they got close to the moonbase, they were spotted by the kids in the hangar they were vectored toward. The sight threw them into a panic. They quickly vacated the area, shouting things like, "run!" "Cheese it!" And "oh, dear glob, they're having a race!"

When the racers got close, they all turned their facing around, using their thrusters to counter their momentum. The moon had no air resistance, so they all had to do their own slowing down to avoid crashing. But the race was still on, so none of them wanted to slow down to a level that could be described as safe. The ships all spilled through the atmospheric barrier at close but slightly different timing like a random spray. They all passed with unsettling speed over the columns of docked spacecraft. The barrier that kept air inside the open hangar was their unofficial finish line, so they each slowed down, and began moving around with proper control to find a spot to land.

The hangar serviced a vast number of ships. It's floor was hard as granite, solid black and slightly reflective. The walls were made of the same chrome-like metal as the outside of the moonbase. The opening through which spacecraft entered and exited was a very wide rectangle. But an unspoken rule stated that all rooms have high ceilings, so the hangar ceiling went well above the entrance. It was lined with lights, catwalks and pipework.

After landing, the pilots, who with their tuned, high performance spacecraft all looked the part of pilots, warm jackets, flight hats and all, exited their craft and began gathering in the middle of the hangar deck so they could talk about the race, and maybe argue over who won. As they gathered, another kid approached them. A symbol on the kid's helmet clearly marked him as the hangar's overseer. He angrily threw his arms in the air, "you crazy hotshots!" The pilots chuckled together in response. The overseer continued, clearly upset with them, "you guys came in way too fast." One of the pilots stepped forward, he had a carefree smile, with a piece of wheat in his mouth, "what's the problem, chief?"

The overseer indicated a row of huge metal cylinders near the back wall, "this hangar is full of soft fuel tanks, what if one of you hit one?"

"Well I'd know where I'd strike if I attacked the moonbase," said one of the pilots snarkily. The overseer got more tense, "If the moonbase comes under attack, we close the blast door!" The pilot looked toward the opening, it was as wide as the hangar, that is to say, extremely. "Right," said the pilot, "brilliant! The enemy would only have a tiny, half-hour window to lob a couple fatboys through the opening, yeah, real defensible."

The overseer took out a remote with a switch. With his other hand, he pointed past the group of pilots, toward the opening. When he was sure they were all looking, he flipped the switch. A blast door slid across the entire entrance from right to left, covering it completely in under a second. He flipped it back, and it opened just as quickly, just in time to avoid a collision with a ship that looked like a rigged up school bus which was coming in to dock.

The overseer crossed his arms, holding himself proudly, "I helped engineer Moonbase Zero. When it locks down, it's harder to penetrate than the ancient pyramids in their prime."

The snarky pilot sagged, "well played, monsieur."

The pilot who spoke for the others took the piece of wheat from his mouth, gripping it between his index finger and thumb, "relax, chief, we know what we're doing."

"I don't care if you're confident." He swept his hands over the columns of landed spacecraft, there had to be several hundred in the vast hangar. "It's not just your own ships you're putting at risk."

"Look, chief," said the pilot. He took a deep breath, looking for words, he looked the overseer in the eye, "we were flying up to the moonbase all routine-like, but something came up, and we were faced with a choice." The pilot clasped his fists gently upward, and stared upward, as if reciting an entrancing tale, "and that choice was to ride the rising tide, propelling us into the thick. Or to regret forever..." he looked the overseer in the eye, "the decision not to."

The overseer lifted an eyebrow, "you were provoked into racing someone?"

The pilot snapped his fingers, "yer darned right we were!"

"I'm still going to have to re-"

"Wait, hold that thought," interrupted the pilot as he turned to face the others, "Numbuh Ten-Wings isn't here, did he crash?"

"Yeah, he did, I saw it," said one of them. The pilot turned back to face the overseer, "He's prob'ly real bored out there by now. You mind towing him back here?"

The overseer twitched, "and I suppose you'd also like me to have his ship repaired, on the house!" He said in a sarcastic tone.

The pilot grinned, "really? That would be awesome!"

The overseer took a frustrated sigh, "we're done here. I can't believe you guys are Kids Next Door. Actually, you know what? I can." He turned away from them, back to the hangar he was charged with overseeing. He took out a walkie talkie, "we have a four-oh-one in the barrens. If he wants repairs, charge him for it" The pilots all leaned in, trying to eavesdrop. "Yes, the usual rate... No, I don't want a piece of scrap hogging hangar real estate. If he can't repair it and fly it out of here in four hours, then it's going to the smelter... Our scrap rate is fourty percent market value, pay him that." As soon as he hung up, a towship took off from another area of the hangar. Before leaving, he looked back at the group of pilots, his mood was now peaceful, "and I'm reporting you guys to Numbuh Three Sixty Two." He walked away, and the pilots stood there, frozen like sculptures.

Normally, most kids lacked the diligence, or the attention spans to go out of their way to deliver penalties for minor offenses. But the mention of that number caused that sense of security to blow away from them like hot air. Number Three Sixty Two was the supreme leader of the Kids Next Door. Dreaded and respected throughout the entire organization for being one hundred percent reasonable. Encompassing situations where being reasonable meant having to be judgmental, harsh, or skeptical.

It was a long minute before any of them spoke.

"So, who's staying behind to give Numbuh Ten-Wings a lift? One two three, not it!"

"Not it!"

"Not it!"

"I'm staying, you guys can go."

"What?" They turned their attention to the one who said that, he was twiddling his piece of wheat with his fingers. "You'll get grilled if you stay,"

He smiled in reply, "I'm not afraid of getting a little chewed out."

"But why?"

"I came here to attend the decommissioning of a great operative, maybe even the best on earth, and that's what I'm gonna do."

"He's right," said another kid, "this is only happening once. We can be here for it, or regret forever the decision not to."

The pilot with the piece of wheat made a crooked smile, "took the words right out of my mouth."

They all nodded, agreeing to stay. And now that they had settled what they were going to do about their minor offense, their mood became more at peace. "So," said one of the pilots, "what about that ship that showed us up? Did you guys notice it had no windows?"

"Maybe it was a drone?"

"No way, it flew a circle around me, someone had to be driving it."

"I didn't see it come in, did it crash?"

"Guys!" Shouted the pilot with the wheat, "let's just let mysteries be mysteries. The facts are that that thing came out of nowhere and gave us a great time. Let's leave it alone now, alright?"

* * *

The truth was that the black-nosed ship was landed at the other end of the hangar. Number Five sat in its captain's seat, with Numbers Two and Three manning data terminals. Number Two spun a 180 in his chair. He wore a headset with a microphone. "So, gals, what's the verdict?"

"Incredible!" Shouted Number Three.

"Numbuh Two," said Number Five grimly, "if I learn that it was Numbuh Four in that cockpit, then I will personally declare you a transcended genius from the heart of genius land. This thing flew amazingly!"

The door to the cockpit swooshed open, revealing Number Four coming out. There was another door right behind him, concealing whatever was in the cockpit.

Number Five stood up, "so, Numbuh Four, how'd the new system hold up?" Number four's head angled up, he was grinning ear to ear, "it was the most-"

"Hold it!" Exclaimed Number Two. He turned to Number Five, "nice try, Number Five."

Number Five smiled humorously.

Number Two turned to Number Four, "you can't tell anybody anything about the new system until I get it registered. I don't want any copycats to steal my idea, okay?"

Number Four nodded, "I won't tell anybody."

"Do you promise?"

Number Four put his fist on his heart, "My word is my life!"

"Where did that come from?"

"I think he took it from a movie," said Number Three.

"Really? What movie?"

"A movie I liked," said Number Four.

"Works for me."

"Hey, guys!" Said Number Five. She stood next to the door to the exit ramp. When she had their attention, she continued, "we leave together aboard the blacknose some time after the... aftermath. Do what you want 'till then." She disembarked from the ship.

"When's the decommissioning?" asked Number Three.

"In an hour, there's a social gathering before and after." Explained Number Two.

"Then we have time." said Number Three. She came up to Number Four, "do you want to go explore the new moonbase?"

"Go ahead, no-one's stopping you..."

She grabbed his hand between both of hers and tugged on it, "come on, Number Four, please?" She pulled him toward the ship's exit.

He went against her pulling, but only enough that they moved very slowly. "Look, I don't see why you can't just-"

Her face started to get slightly upset, "come on, don't be a party pooper!"

"Alright! fine then..." He said with exaggerated tone.

"Yay!" She held Number Four's hand, and took him out. Number Four's mouth was dejected, but his eyes were smiling as they exited the ship together.

Number Two, now alone in his ship, went over to a part of the floor. He opened a hidden hatch and took out several large, rolled up papers. He stuffed them under his arm. When he was done, he closed the hatch and put the rug back over it. He stood up and looked toward the door leading to to the cockpit, "it works... It really works!" He made a soppy smile of the sort he would never make with other people around. "I'm proud of you, girl, you're my best plane yet." He got down and put his cheek on the floor, lovingly rubbing his hand back and forth on it. "And when I'm finished with you, you'll be the best plane to ever exist."

* * *

Number Five spied on Number Two. She hung in from atop the roof to see through the open door, and saw him getting all lovey-dovey with his plane. She pulled herself back up and walked off the other side of the cylinder-shaped roof. Her gripper shoes made it possible to walk on nearly any surface, no matter how slippery or awkwardly angled. A part of her wanted to laugh her buttocks off at catching him acting that way, but she didn't. She felt that she kind of understood where he was coming from. Having something that you care about with all your heart and soul was a beautiful thing, and she didn't think it'd be cool to make fun of it.

She lifted her head up, "ah, who am I kiddin'?" She dropped on the hangar deck and went around the ship. She tiptoed up its boarding stairs, then walked casually inside, "hey, Hoagie!"

Number Two yelped and stood up straight, leaving his papers on the floor, "oh, h-hey, Number Five, I was just-"

"Just forgot somethin'." She said plainly as she walked right past him to the command chair. "S-so what are you getting?" Said Number Two, eager to start a normal conversation and draw her attention away from what he was afraid she might have witnessed. Ignoring his question, she picked up a long, wide, heavy black bag from next to the chair, and slung it over her shoulder. She walked back toward the door. Number Two was fidgeting intensely. She stopped near the door, turning her head to look at Number Two, "somethin' wrong?"

"No! No! Nothing's wrong," said Number Two as he shook his head and held his hands up, shifting them left and right. "Well, alright, then." She went out the door and back down the stairs. As she walked away from the plane, she felt a giddy gratification of the sort one felt when getting away with a well-landed prank. Though it was somewhat voluntary on her part, she often put up with Number Two's predictable demeanor and cheesy one-liners. She couldn't resist the urge to poke back by making him uncomfortable in return.

She went across the hangar floor, into a tube-shaped corridor.

* * *

Number Eighty Six leaned back on on a wall, surveying the area. She checked her watch, noting that it was about an hour until the decommissioning ceremony. She was in a spot that presented a good view of everything in the frontal lobby of the reception zone of the moonbase. The lobby was a huge, circular dome. A tight formation of transparent tubes came from the ceiling, and penetrated through the middle of the floor. There were holes in them near the floor, where small, furry rodents; hamsters, busily entered and exited, going in all different directions. Some of them used the lobby floor as a shortcut. Every one of the hamsters carried the sense that there was somewhere it needed to be. There were over a dozen corridors linked to the room. More than half of them led to hangars and airlock halls. Crowds of KND operatives were pouring in from them.

Number Eighty Six kept a close watch on all of them. The huge influx of KND Operatives coming to be at the decommissioning was putting her on edge. Anytime someone's eyes met hers, they looked somewhere else real quick. She had a reputation among the Kids Next Door for being a ruthless, bad-tempered attack dog. She was the head of the Decommissioning Squad, an elite unit of the KND who had the unsavory, but important task of apprehending operatives who were scheduled for decommissioning. This happened when an operative turned thirteen, or broke the rules badly enough. If they resisted, the decommissioning squad hunted them down without mercy. She also held the position of global tactical officer, and was Number Three Sixty Two's de-facto right hand.

As she kept on surveying the room, one particular sight caught her eye. It was a girl and a boy walking together. They were coming from the main hangar. Number Eighty Six recognized them as Numbers Three and Four of sector V. Number Three didn't seem upset or uncomfortable, in spite of being in the company of a boy. Number Eighty Six took exception to this. How could she? She thought. How could a girl possibly act all cheerful, and happy, and totally not perturbed with that... that _boy _tagging along? The two of them were in the same sector, sure, but that didn't mean they had to get along. She didn't understand it. She had no intention of trying to understand it. It was none of her business. Witnessing it annoyed the filly out of her. And so she decided to tail them.

She watched them pass by far to her left. She noted that they didn't notice she was watching them. They were heading into a corridor, the entrance of which was just out of her eyeshot. She followed. As she walked along next to the wall, she noticed a snack bar built into the wall on her left. She stopped at it, figuring she had to let them get some distance, lest they suspect something. As she looked at what they had, she noticed a hamster on the counter. He was sitting up, looking upward. Three identical pebbles lay on the counter next to him. The pebbles were shaped like rounded, but still thickly proportioned discs. They were perfectly smooth. Pieces of copper shaped like the letter U were clamped flush around their outer edge. Each copper U began at the top of the pebble, getting thicker as it approached the outer edge, then it made symmetry as it thinned back out on the way to the bottom. Each pebble had nine of these U's, spaced evenly around the entire disc shape.

The shopkeep came out from the back room. He came up to the counter and leaned on it, locking his elbows. He looked down at the hamster, "what'll it be little guy?"

The hamster pointed upward past the shopkeep's head. The shopkeep lifted his hand up behind himself, putting his hand under a small sack of sunflower seeds, which was hanging on a line. He lifted his eyebrows, and the hamster nodded in reply. The shopkeep pulled on the end of the string lining the sack, and the knot came undone without effort. His outstretched arm carried the sack over in front, laying it on the counter, "that'll set ya back three plates, lil' guy."

The hamster gripped the end of the string in its mouth, dragging the sack away. It left the three copper-augmented pebbles on the counter. The shopkeep scooped them up in a smooth, singular hand motion. He walked over to the far end of the counter, inserting the pebbles into the biggest slot of a metal box with three rectangular slots. "What'll it be, ma'am?" He said to Number Eighty Six without looking toward her. She pointed at a large bag of potato chips, "I'll have that."

"Eleven plates." Said the shopkeep as he walked over to it.

"Fer a bag o' taters? that's highway robbery!"

"It's supply and demand, ma'am. Take it or leave it." Said the shopkeep in a friendly tone as he set the bag on the counter.

She wanted to haggle, but also didn't want to let her mark get too far ahead. She dug into her bag and took out two pebbles. One of them was brown, with copper braces like the ones the hamster had, but the other was smaller, it's stone was clean white, and it had silver rather than copper. Number eighty six put them on the counter and took the bag of chips with the same hand, then she walked off, all in one calm, industrious motion.

The shopkeep scooped up the plates as she left the counter, "have a nice day!" He called after her as she left.

She rounded the corner and walked briskly down the corridor she saw _them _go. As she walked, she imagined what kind of inconsequential, but still unacceptable things they might be doing in correlation with one another without her watching. That it was none of her business meant nothing to her. Interactions between a boy and a girl had but one, precise way it could be done properly, and unlimited ways it could be done wrong. This made it almost a guarantee that the situation needed her to be there to observe and scrutinize.

She popped her bag open and began snacking on the chips within, one at a time. She advanced through the corridor, keeping her eyes peeled. She became anxious, afraid they might have slipped past her grasp. The corridor ended, widening its way to a view of enlivening open space, visible above, to the sides, and diagonally downward, an expansive, transparent globe housing a cluster of platforms. Number Eighty Six crossed the catwalk, it led to a wide platform in the center of the dome. She went across the platform, shifting and maneuvering through the moving crowd of kids. She stopped at the edge of the platform. An inconspicuous, narrow pedestal became visible as she got close to it. The pedestal had a single, solitary button on it. She gripped the button and pulled it out. A huge fishhook fell from above on the end of a rope. It ran out of slack just before hitting the ground, causing it to bounce and sway. Number Eighty Six grabbed the rope, then lifted herself up to stand on the fishhook.

The spot was out of the way, and the platform was really just a junction; a transitional walkway, where everyone was heading straight across to a specific destination. For these reasons, nobody took particular notice of what she was doing. After a few seconds, the fishhook lifted up, taking her with it. As her altitude increased, she surveyed the platforms, looking for her target. She spotted them on a high platform loaded with cafe tables. The platform had booths built into a wall rounding the back half of its outer perimeter. They appeared to be selling pizza, fries, soda, and weaponry. The dome wall started becoming narrow, signifying she was nearing the top. The fishhook took her through a hole barely wider than itself. She came through a hole in the floor of a small platform. The platform had a round couch going around its perimeter, facing inward. She went to the couch, putting her knee on the seat to lean over the edge. She looked down at the cafe/weapon shop platform. She had to pinpoint both target entities in order to assess the situation.

She affirmed their location. They were sitting together at one of the tables. Number Eighty Six picked a chip from her bag and put it in her mouth. Her hand went down for another chip, inserting it into her mouth just as she swallowed the previous. As she watched them, she noted they were talking. She squinted, seeing if she could read their lips. She couldn't. She watched Number Four with particular scrutiny, as he was a boy. Boys, she thought, they had all the same things as girls. Same feet, same hands, same noses, same two eyes and ears. They breathed the same air and ate the same things. But it was all a lie, a lie! They were different. They were unstable. And they had to be controlled.

She rammed her hand into the bag, angrily eating her chips by the fistful. She watched them harder, hoping Number Four would do something slightly out of line so she could get angry at him. She spotted movement. Number Three got up from the table, heading toward the food stands. She must be going to order their lunch, thought Number Eighty Six. Just as well she be the one to do it. The stupid boy might forget what she wanted if he did it. She looked back at Number Four, and spotted him also getting up from his seat. Then he moved sneakily toward the stairs, stopping to look quickly back toward Number Three. When he was sure she wasn't looking, he went down the stairs. Then he moved hastily through the crowd on the main platform, heading the direction which would be to Number Eighty Six's left.

She stood up, leveling a look of judgment at Number Four that he couldn't possibly see. She felt like a vigilant sheriff who just spotted shenanigans. She would react appropriately, and ride her horse hard to run down the culprit, with extreme prejudice. She backed to the middle of her platform, turned left, then bolted. She met the circular couch with a running jump, pushing off the top with her foot and flying off the edge of the platform. For several long seconds, she was completely airborne. She landed on a slide that came out of the wall. She rode it through the dome wall into its own outside tube. Then it veered right, angling into another building. The slide ended right after entering the next room through the wall, dumping her over the floor. She landed on her feet, her knees buckling. She pushed herself up and kept moving without any delay. She walked forward, angling right. She moved through the room with detached concentration as if in a trance. She came in front of a corridor entrance, standing in front of it and ignoring the mass of kids moving around her. She stared down the corridor, spotting Number Four as he came through it. He was oblivious to her standing plainly in front of him. His hasty walk took him to the end of the hall, right in front of her. "Number Four!" She shouted in a loud, angry tone.

Number Four jumped, and panicked slightly the instant she began yelling at him. He frantically looked left and right, stopping at looking at Number Eighty Six, "N-Numbuh Eighty Six? Whatever it is, I didn't do it!"

"Number Four," her voice didn't become any quieter, "whaddya think yer doin'?" It didn't matter that her question might give away she was spying on them. She was known for behaving irrationally, this reputation was a perfect camouflage for confronting him on what he was doing.

Number four scratched the back of his head, thinking. "Ah, well... I was just going to the bathroom is all."

Number Eighty Six made a small, crooked smile that entailed satisfaction. She immediately hid her smile, giving the boy the stink eye. "That's a good boy. You head on back now."

Number Four obeyed, as he turned and walked away, his head snapped back to glance at her a couple of times, "girls, workin' in packs..." he muttered.

Number Eighty Six didn't stop to feel gratified about what she did. She liked to see herself as constantly busy correcting wrongs. There would be plenty of time for rest later. She checked her watch, noting it to be another half-hour until the decommissioning event. Being the head of decommissioning, she had to be there when it started.

She spun around and began walking. She decided to go early, speculating that Number Three Sixty Two might need her for something, especially with the moonbase being unusually crowded. She walked with a slight swagger, roleplaying a sense of self importance.

* * *

Number Five didn't know her way around the moonbase. But she had time to kill, so it worked out fine. She decided to take the chance to explore the new moonbase. Not long ago, the KND moonbase was destroyed as part of a desperate, last ditch attack by the KND in a battle against against an evil tyrant. A battle they ultimately won. Afterward, the KND built a new moonbase, bigger and more advanced than the old one. The new moonbase, named Moonbase Zero, felt as labyrinthine as it was vast. She passed by countless intersections, none of which had proper directory labeling. She speculated that people just got used to it. It would definitely confuse the enemy, she thought to herself, if this moonbase ever came under attack. She decided to go straight on all of them. The corridor she followed wound slightly uphill. She had a good feeling about it.

She came to a section where the right half of the corridor was transparent. It presented a great view of other sections of the massive structure. It was like a city straight out of a high budget science fiction movie. Tall, thickly grouped spires shot out from the thick foliage of the titanic alien life form which served as the moonbases' tree. Dozens of spacecraft flew toward, away, around, and between the segments. A wide saucer, that looked like a life-sized 70's alien movie prop was mounted atop the highest point of the moonbase. Its purpose was anyone's guess.

Solid, transparent tubes entered, exited, and maneuvered around the structures in an unplanned, chaotic arrangement. Hamsters could be seen using these tubes to get around. Hamsters were the unsung workhorses of the KND. They needed to be able to get to places they were needed quickly. Thus, the tubes. Sometimes these tubes passed obliviously through rooms and corridors. She speculated that even maximum security areas sometimes had hamster tubes showing in their walls, ceiling, or floor.

She came to a large, open room. It was lined with rows of benches. There were numerous other corridors linked to this room. It had huge windows that comprised outer walls of the structure as a whole. Hamsters scurried freely along the floor. And the place was packed with people. There was some indoor vegetation, as well as a snack bar built into the far window, it's box visibly protruded into outer space. Kid and hamster alike obtained stuff at it.

Number Five spotted one group of kids that stood out from the rest. The rest all looked like normal KND operatives, meaning they were either dressed casually or armored to the teeth. But these other kids were dressed formally. There were six of them, only one of them was a girl, and they all wore extremely fashionable black suits. They kept to their own circle, and didn't speak to anyone else. There was no clear signal that they wanted to be left alone, but other kids kept their distance nonetheless. There was a subtle air of dormant, consequential hostility about them. Number Five didn't recognize them at all. She decided to just pass them by. When she walked by, heading to the next corridor, one of them spotted her. She expected he would just let his attention pass over her, but when he saw her, he started walking toward her. She stopped, watching him from the corner of her eye as she let him approach. He stopped near her, looking her straight in the eye. She faced him directly. "You Numbuh Five, of secta V?" He asked, his voice making an effort to sound wispy. He had an Italian accent.

She nodded in reply.

He smiled, showing his top teeth. It was not a real smile, but it carried extras. His facial expression implied he knew exactly what a fake smile was, and that he didn't expect the other person to believe it was real for a second, making his fake smile actually seem friendly in a unique way. He extended his hand, "it's an honor to meet you. I'm Numbuh Second-Born, head o' Sector SICI."

She brought her bag off her shoulder, switched hands, and slung it over her other shoulder. She took his hand and they shook in greeting, "never heard of you."

"We don't get out much, but I'm sure you actually have heard of us."

"So what's with the Don Corleone impression?"

He put his hand on his chest, "he is my personal idol. That is a conviction I cannot reserve."

"So your other guys..?"

"Not Sicilian, no."

"So SICI doesn't stand for Sicily?"

"It stands for Secretively Impressionable Counter Intelligence."

"So you're ghost operatives?"

"Of a sort, sure."

"So then why are you telling me this?"

His smile came back, "our existence isn't a secret, just the fact that we're normal kids," his face became more attentive, "and not nightmarish abominations from the darkest recesses of the human soul."

Number Five suddenly felt a compelling urge to change the subject, "so what are you guys doing here?"

He spread his arms, indicating the crowd, "KND operatives from all kiddom have come, of their own will, to attend the decommissioning a great kid. My team and I have come to pay our respects as well."

It felt strange, having her close friend being talked about that way, "I had no idea he would affect so many people."

"You knew him personally, so that's to be understood. The accomplishments of Number One and his team are insurmountable." His smile disappeared, and was replaced by a real one, "you guys are heroes. And now, one of you is gone. Do you know what a hero is, when he's no longer among those who still dwell on earth?"

Number five enjoyed questions like this. She thought for a moment, "a constellation?"

He nodded, still smiling, "a legend."

"A legend..."

Number Second-Born looked over Number five's shoulder, and saw something that made him flick his eyebrows up, "I gotta go, it's been nice talking to you."

"Yeah, likewise."

He walked past her right side, his team following. She turned her head and eyes to look backward, and saw him looking toward something directly behind her. "Sir," he said as he nodded lightly toward this person, passing it by. Number Five's stomach felt like sinking. Standing behind her was the one person she hoped not to run into. She steeled herself, then turned around to face her.

The helmet was the first thing one noticed when looking at her. It was stainless steel, probably fashioned from a piece of kitchenware. It would be commonplace, but for two imposing blades that curved up symmetrically from the front. Straight, neatly arranged blond hair fell out from under it, reaching to her shoulders. She wore a blue jumpsuit, and a loose, orange sweatshirt over it. Her posture, and usual facial expression were typical of a kid; easygoing and detached from anything that wasn't the primary focus of her attention. But these expressions were constantly beset with method and deliberation, evidencing an exceptional intellect.

Nobody else in the room was looking in her direction. In spite of the room's surrounding, interchangeable viewpoints to the outside. Which meant they all noticed she was there. This kind of thing tended to happen wherever she went. If presence was gravitational pull, she would be the sun.

"Number Five," she said to Number Five with a tone of voice that made it mean the same as hello. Her demeanor was genuinely friendly, yet she still somehow made Number Five feel pressured when she spoke to her. Number Five's first instinct was to salute her, but her very next instinct was to always appear laid back, so halfway up to her head, her hand instead went to the back of her neck, itching it. "Hey, Numbuh Three Sixty Two."

"Are you occupied with anything?"

"Nah."

"Great," she turned around, looking back at Number Five, "walk with me."

She went along, following her, then quickly catching up to her side, "so... what's up?"

"I want to show you something really cool."

Number Five felt a growing paranoia. When Number One left, she had to omit things in her report to cover up what really happened. Falsifying a report was against the rules big time. Maybe, she thought, Numbuh Three Sixty Two was taking her to be interrogated. No, no, she rationalized. She wouldn't jump to conclusions, or do something without evidence. Number Five decided to just act as though everything she said in her report was true. As they walked through the hall together, Number Three Sixty Two was the first to speak, "Do you play chess?"

"Once in a while, why?" What's this? Thought Number Five. Casual small talk? She at least expected questions about her vague report on Number One's disappearance. It wasn't like her to just overlook something like that.

"Are you good?"

"The best in my school."  
"I'm at a loss for challenging opponents. We should play each other some time, oh, left." She said as they came up to an intersection.

They went left, and the corridor started winding upward, getting steep.

"Numbuh Three Sixty Two?"

"What is it, Number Five?"

"This decommissioning, was it you?"

"I ordered it, yes."

This was confusing, thought Number Five, it was as if somehow, she knew for certain he wasn't coming back. This is it, thought Number Five. She had to act like she told the whole truth in her report, "but why? It's only been a week, he might come back."

She sighed, "Abby, I didn't want to confront you on this. You wouldn't keep a secret without good reason. But there's only one part of your report I believed for certain was true. One single sentence, you said: I doubt he'll ever return. You used those exact words, and they were more vivid than the rest of your report. And that's how I knew they had to be a blatant lie, or the certain truth."

Number Five shut her eyes, "Look, Rachel, I ca-"

"But don't worry about it, Abby," she put her hand on her shoulder. Number Five looked at her, and she was smiling, "I said I wasn't going to confront you on it, and I mean it."

"But why?"

"You and Number One are close friends. And now he's disappeared in a manner that, for some reason, you can't reveal. Asking you to reveal it might be asking you to betray him. And I won't do that. I don't need to. I don't know why you're covering this up, but I'll make sure you don't get any heat for it."

"Thanks a lot, Rachel, you've taken a huge load off my mind."

They reached the end of the inward-spiraling corridor, emerging to another huge room. The wall ahead of them was a transparent half-cylinder that was at least ten stories high. It served as an alcove for an open tower of platforms. Number Three Sixty Two led them in front of a bench on the ground floor beneath the platforms. They stood at the edge, adjacent to the giant, cylinder-shaped window. Through the window, they could see a heavy concentration of the moonbase tree's foliage. Within the foliage, a statue could be seen. It was a depiction of Number Zero; a kid of mythical renown who founded the KND. "One of my favorite spots," said Number Three Sixty Two, "it's a beautiful view, isn't it?"

"Is this the place you wanted to show me?"

"Oh, no, I just..." she stepped backward, and sat down on a bench, "need to gather my thoughts, you mind waiting?"

"No, not at all. I was planning to just aimlessly wander around anyway." She saw her sitting on the edge of the bench, her head was bent down, and her eyes shut. It just occurred to Number Five that she practically lived at the moonbase, "hey, just out of curiosity, where do you sleep?"

"In my office, on the rare occasion that I have time for it."

"You don't get to sleep much?"

"The supreme leader has to be available whenever anything comes up. And considering we span the entire globe, that's all the time." She leaned back, her eyes still shut. "Did you know that it's always daytime on one half of the world? I mean, that's common knowledge, but when I first started this, it really slammed home in a new way for me." Number Five sat down next to her, placing the black bag on the floor.

She opened her eyes, and grinned, "last time I slept for more than a few hours, it was chaos."

Number Five made a crooked smile, "how could you possibly wake up after only a few hours?"

"If I told you, I'd have to trust you to keep it a secret."

"Coffee, right?"

She replied by staring at Number Five blankly.

"You don't want to get hooked on that stuff, it's adult turf."

"Hey, hey, hey," She put her finger up to Number Five's face in friendly confrontation, "remember this. There isn't a single thing in all existence that's the exclusive domain of adults."

"I've had experience with coffee. It keeps you awake well enough, but it doesn't actually make your fatigue go away. When was the last time you actually slept?"

"Eighty one hours ago."

"What! That's more than three days! And you stopped at a bench, to take a rest? Not drop into a coma?"

"I'll be alright. I need to be at the decommissioning."

"You have unreal endurance... Wait, so you haven't slept since that mission?"

"Which one?"

"Three days ago, you personally led a team to investigate some big lead, but it was a trap?" Inquired Number Five in a reminding tone.

Number Three Sixty Two rested her forehead on her hand, closing her eyes, "Sorry, this past week's been kind of a blur, there's all kinds of rumors surrounding that, what did you hear?"

"I heard that the false info came from Father, and he was waiting for you."

"That's true. We were caught unprepared, and didn't have a chance of winning."

"And then you attacked him alone, ordering the others to run while you bought them time."

She laughed, "I like this version, keep going."

"Wait, what really happened?"

"I lashed out at him in frustration, and my team ran away like chickens."

"Wow, that's..."

"More realistic?"

"Yeah."

"So, continue with your version. What happened next?"

"We all thought you were captured. Man, I ain't never seen Numbuh Eighty Six and Patton so ticked. They planned a rescue operation that involved all the firepower they could mobilize, and being sure to wipe Father's mansion off the map before they were done."

"You were in on their plan?"

"I volunteered to do the sabotage run."

Number Three Sixty Two sighed, "then it's a good thing I wasn't captured, and came back a day afterward, before they went ahead with it."

"Having a good motive to go gunning for Father is a good thing. I don't get what you mean."

"I mean they were going to fight angry. It doesn't matter how much strength you muster, if your attack is predictable, and slow to come, it will be easy to defeat. That operation could have easily ended in disaster. Especially against a dangerous, intelligent adversary like Father."

"Rachel, I don't enjoy insults, but you're acting like a stiff."

"Am I? Numbers Eighty Six, and Sixty don't want missions to go badly any more than I do. If someone on my side does something unwise, I ought to call them out on it. It's constructive criticism."

Number Five stood up, "but it was to rescue you. They were gonna do it because they cared about you."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for what they meant to do. But it was still a bad call." She stood up, facing ahead. She looked at Number Five sideways. Her fatigue had disappeared. "First and foremost, I'm the one who keeps them organized, and their friend only after that's been seen to."

Number Five lifted an eyebrow, "fair enough, you ready to show me this place you were talking about?"

"Sorry, I'll have to show it to you later, The ceremony is scheduled to start soon. I need to be there some time in advance." She turned to walk off, then looked toward Number Five, "do you know your way there?"

Number Five put her left hand behind her neck, grinning sheepishly, "maybe I better follow you."

She walked away, "you'll be early, but that's your choice."

Number Five picked up her bag and followed, "you know, you could just let Numbuh Eighty Six handle it, decommissioning is her domain anyway."

"No, I called for his decommissioning. Before his thirteenth birthday, and by no violation of the rules on his part. Some kids might be here for it because they feel outraged."

Number Five looked away, "that's entirely possible."

"I need to be there to own up for my decision, and explain my reasons to everyone. I can go a little longer without rest."

"Alright, but you better get some sleep after this."

She grinned, turning around to walk backwards and look directly at Number Five, "oh, hello Number Eighty Six, I thought I was talking to Number Five!"

"Well I'm glad to hear somebody up here's makin' sure you don't kill yourself."

She turned back around, walking forward again. "She can be a little... smothering, but I have to do things this way. Global command is very high maintenance."

Number Five sighed to herself, she didn't know what it was like, but she felt like empathizing. The position of supreme leader of the KND wasn't coveted by anyone in the slightest. It was an extremely tedious, stressful job that called for being accountable for everything. A level of responsibility that a normal kid would reject outright. And yet Number Three Sixty Two actually wanted the job. For reasons Number Five could only guess were something between extreme dedication, mild insanity, and the cool helmet. "Well, if it's any consolation, Rachel, I'm happy I'm not the one who has to do it."

"Gee, thanks," she replied in an exaggerated tone.

"But even without Numbuh One, Sector V will do its part five-fold on the field."

"I'm sure you will, you guys did an incredible job at Bargate Academy. How does it feel, being leader of sector V again?"

"Pretty easy, we all know each other real well."

As they walked together, they came past a section of the corridor that was exposed and suspended betwixt two separate structures. It had transparent walls and ceiling. There was a sign on the overhead wall of the next building. It read: "A;RZ-F:AT." Number Five had no idea what it meant, "hey, Rachel, what does that sign mean?"

"It means we're heading from 'area; reception zone' to 'facility: auditorium.'"

Number Five frowned with thought, "I'm just gonna assume that makes sense to you."

She laughed, "you just get used to it."

"Hey, uhh..." Number Five scratched her middle brow, looking for words.

"What is it? Please, speak your mind."

"What is your reason? For having Number One decommissioned, I mean."

Number Three Sixty Two stopped walking, her expression serious, "I'm doing it to turn him into a legend, to make sure that his passing isn't anonymous." Number Five stopped walking as well, and then she continued speaking. "Decommissioning is irreversible, the code module never accepts the same DNA twice. If he's never going to come back; no longer an active operative. Then we'll have to remove him from the registry sooner or later. And I would prefer it be a time when the memory of everything he's done is still fresh on everyone's mind."

"You really thought this through, didn't you?"

She brought her fist up, directing it at the empty space in front of her, "if a hero goes out, he goes out with a bang. Number One is going to be remembered for what no force on earth can deny he was; a hero."

Number Five rubbed her face in a single, hard motion, "This is more than just the mystery of his disappearance. You seem to have some other motive."

Number Three Sixty Two backed up to lean on the transparent wall as she closed her eyes. "Number One was a romanticist, who believed in legends and fantasy. Things that I'd always been skeptical of, and by extension didn't believe in. But eventually," her eyes opened, "his way won me over. I've done nothing wrong, but my pride demands that I still compensate in some way."

"Why would you want to make up for something that wasn't bad?"

She shrugged, "it may not have been bad, but it was still a flaw; a lack of progress, on my part. He believed in the myth of Number Zero. And I didn't, yet..." She crossed her arms, "even if it hadn't turned out to be true, I acknowledge that he would have still been in the right to believe in it. And now, in turn, I'll play the romanticist who believes in the myth of Number One. It may not seem like it now, but after some time passes, everyone's memory of him will become less of Number One the person, and more of Number One the abstraction. All his accomplishments will be remembered under his name, and people will fill the details with their imaginations. A legacy that kids, teens, and even adults will be able to take into heart."

"And yet you would still be just as green in the world, and in your own mind, if you didn't bother to do this, so why?"

"If you want the complete truth," she looked Number Five straight in the eye, and then stood off the wall, moving right next to her, "I'm using him, Abby. Like a tool, like a chess piece," she held up her thumb and index finger, moving them as if she were twisting a narrow knob. "Morale is a very powerful thing, and I'm squeezing him for it for all he's got. Do you find that objectionable?"

Number Five took a grim, frozen expression, "Rachel... I can't believe you." She looked Number Three Six Two straight in the eye, "in my book, you have got to be..." Her face became elated as she shook her head, "the best leader the KND has ever had."

"You don't...?"

"Take offense? Heck no! You're amazing!" Number Five put a hand on her shoulder, "you try to hide it, but I know his being gone has been hard on you, too. But you're capitalizing on it, making the decision that benefits us the most. You're wasting no time attending to the future, while everyone else has their mind on the past."

"You don't care that I'm mucking with the memory of your friend, for reasons that aren't even personal?"

"Numbuh One would have done anything if it meant helping the Kids Next Door. And as for my feelings, well, I kinda like the idea of him goin' down in history, and I think that what you're doing is necessary for that."

"Necessary? I thought I was just speeding up the process."

Number Five shook her head slowly, contemplatively, "I don't think so. A dead hero needs a chronicler in order to evolve into a legend. Achilles woulda been nothin' without Homer."

"Dead hero..?"

Number Five slapped her forehead, "ah, shoot."

Number Three Six Two turned around, facing away with her face not visible, "Abigail, is he really..?"

"Look, Rachel, I can't tell you anything about it, I'm sorry."

"If you think it needs to be kept a secret, then... I trust your judgment." She took a deep breath, then indicated a fork straight ahead, "we split up here, this is the auditorium area. You'll know the entrances to the main when you see them. I am to use a different entrance."

Tentatively, Number Five turned to leave.

"Number Five."

Number Five turned back to her. Her back was still turned. Her right hand was over her left arm, squeezing the sleeve, "Abby, if you could just tell me one thing."

"Yes?" Said Number Five.

"Is he okay?"

"...Yes."

Number Three Six Two let her hand drop. Saying nothing, she began walking away. Number Five was confident in her ability to sense things other people kept reserved. And she held to the belief that you should go out of your way to address these subtleties, even if you might be wrong, or didn't feel the time was right. Because that was the only way it would ever be brought to light. "Rachel!"

She stopped, "yes?"

She mustered up her nerves, mentally preparing for what she had to say. "Did you... like him?"

She turned her head back, her face was blank, yet it made a gentle, dismissive effort to appear lighthearted, "does it matter?" She walked away, "He's no longer a person, but a story."

* * *

Number two had two objects gripped between his teeth. The first was thin, and metallic, the other, thick and soft. He was on his back, facing upward. His arms were up in a narrow hole, working things he couldn't see, and didn't need to. A thick, green cord accompanied his hands into the hole. He pulled one hand out, taking the piece of metal from his mouth. He then put his hand back into the hole. He was now free to chew on the thick, soft object in his mouth. He advanced along its length with determined chewing and swallowing. After fiddling with objects in his hands he couldn't see, he moved his right hand, gripping a handle with a trigger, to a spot he couldn't see. Then he pulled the trigger, feeling a hard recoil. A thin, solid stream of fluid came pouring out of the hole.

Ignoring it, he took his hands out. His right hand held a gun-like tool on the end of the thick, green cord. He set it down where it was comfortable to let his hand fall. He grabbed and pulled the surface right above him, sliding out on the wheelboard he lay on. He got up on his feet. The soft object he held with his mouth wanted to slip out. He caught it with the hand that seemed cleanest, pushing what remained of it into his hungry mouthhole. He looked up at a huge digital clock built into the upper wall of the hangar, noting it to be about twenty minutes until the decommissioning. He decided he still had some time.

A box sat on a table next to him. It was attached to a mess of cords, all of them going to the object he was just under; a large thruster. The thruster hung out of the hull of the Blacknose, nearly reaching the floor. It had panels opened all over it, with cords going into holes and creases, at some parts hooking to electric junctions that were visible on the surface. Number Two leaned over the box, examining the worn labels on its switches and buttons. He surveyed his hand over them, stopping at one of the switches and turning it.

The thruster burst to life, adding its own howl to the overall din of the busy hangar. The ship was mounted on large-scale vicegrips that came out from the floor, keeping the engine from moving it. The engine studdered, coughing out chunks of black, dusty residue in a steady flurry. Number two smiled in satisfaction as he pressed the killswitch on the box, causing the engine to throttle to zero. It's noise gradually reduced to nothing as the mechanism within coasted to a stop. Number Two picked up a broom in one hand, and a folded tarp in the other. He laid the tarp on the floor next to the pile of residue.

"Fancy little box that," came a voice from behind. Number Two turned toward the voice, it was a kid in pilot getup. Leaning on a different ship in the tightly packed hangar, he expertly twiddled a piece of wheat through his fingers, "with that box, you can work on your engine without needin' a guy in the cockpit you shout 'okay, turn it over' to."

"Numbuh Fore-Winds," said Number Two flatly.

The kid spread his hands, "so glad you remem-"

"Go away."

"Come on, why the cold-"

"Go away," said Number Two more insistently.

"Look, I just wanna say well done on your original. I'm aware it beat us all in the race by a long shot. How's that thing see, anyway?"

"Go anywhere near the cockpit, and the security system will roast you."

"Yikes," he put his hands up, moving them in symmetrical motion as if to say 'calm down.' "I'm not here to steal your secrets, I just want you to see something really... interesting. Trust me, you'll be glad you saw it."

Number Two stopped sweeping to look at the squirrely kid. "How do I know you're not just drawing me away, so an accomplice of yours can slip into my plane?"

He shrugged, "you don't, but consider this: If I do, then my accomplice would be in for a nasty surprise regarding that security system you mentioned." He pointed one finger upward, "I've been in your sights the whole time since You mentioned it to me, so there's no way I could warn him." He spread his arms, lifting his eyebrows, "Do you really think I'd just let someone get roasted like that?"

Number Two thought for a moment, "yeah, I guess that makes sense. You're a punk, but you wouldn't actually get someone hurt." He leaned his broom on the worktable, "so what is it?"

Number Fore-Winds bumped off the surface he was leaning on, advancing closer to Number Two, "It's this ship I saw in hangar nine-C"

"Is that far?"

"About five minute's walk."

"Alright, I'll see it then." Number Two walked past him, with him catching up to his side. Without concentrating, they walked at the same speed, "so what's so funny about this ship?"

"It's the most impractical design I've ever seen. You have to see it to believe it."

"Why can't we just fly to hangar nine-C?"

"Fly? On your plane?"

"No, yours."

"It's a clearance hangar, only the KND Central Aerospace Corps: Echelon Tangent is supposed to land ships in it."

"Oh, yeah," Number Two smiled to himself, "those CASCET clowns. Aren't you part of that outfit?"

"Yeah, but I landed here because of the race."

Walking there started feeling a lot less necessary. "How do I know this isn't another of your mousy con games?"

"Hey, look, I'm done with that. The bothersome weasel is the old me."

Number Two made a flat expression portraying patient annoyance, "really?"

He puffed his chest up, "I've found a new passion, I don't need to prove how much smarter I am than everyone else anymore."

"And what's so great that you would stop being a bother to everyone?"

"Ladies are my new opponent, they are just inscrutable, it's fascinating, really."

"So you've gone from prankster to player. I don't think that's any better."

"Respectin' our other half doesn't form an all new bad. They happen to be very positive toward guys who are friendly and civil to them."

"You, nice? I'll have to see it to believe it."

They came past a chili dog stand next to the hangar exit.

"Hey, you wanna..?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

Number Three Sixty Two checked her watch, noting it to be less than five minutes until the decommissioning. She was standing in front of a full-body mirror. To her right was a row of large windows showing a view of the outside. The panes were angled to face more downward than over. The angle made it possible to easily walk up them as though it were an extension of the floor. To her left, there were rows of supply closets, and a short hallway leading to an open elevator lift. She checked her watch again.

Another hand batted hers down, "ya gotta stop that. You check that thing every five seconds."

She sighed, and turned her head to look at Number Eighty Six. "Duly noted, are you done with my helmet now?"

"No," she held Number Three Six Two's helmet with her left arm arount it. With her right arm she rubbed a folded, puffy rag along one of the blades. "This thing had gum on it, gum! Real, sticky, icky gum what's been in someone's mouth."

"I don't care if it looks dirty, I don't have time for such trivial things."

"Well I do. If you're gonna appear in front of everyone, you're gonna look nice!" She had an enthusiastic tone. She inspected the helmet, nodding in satisfaction. Number Three Six Two reached for it, but Number Eighty Six hugged it away from her. She walked around behind her. Then brought it over Number Three Sixty Two's head. She observed what she was doing through the full-body mirror. She placed the helmet on her head methodically, making sure it was on straight.

"Fanny, this is ridiculous, I think I can put on my own helmet."

"Ya said ya don't have time for 'trivial concerns,' so just let me do it." She set the helmet, then walked a full circle around Number Three Six Two, inspecting her appearance.

"I'm becoming increasingly certain you're attributing me to one of those dress-up dolls you like to play with."

Her face became a hard, icy glare, "how do you know about that!"

She laughed, "rumors, you just confirmed it, though."

"Well," she settled down, "I suppose it's okay if you know." She turned around, "you look fine, I guess."

"Good, because you're on in thirty seconds."

Number Eighty Six spun around. Her eyes shot to Number Three Six Two's wristwatch, but she had her arms crossed, and was looking straight ahead. "Don't be late, now, I know how much you like to holler at everyone."

Number Eighty six went to the lift at the end of the short hall. She entered, and it slowly lifted her up. She lifted her thumb up, smiling, "you better believe it." The elevator sped up after going up the first meter, causing her to quickly disappear from sight.

As soon as she was out of sight, Number Three Six Two dropped on her knees, gripping the sides of her head and curling downward. Her newly polished helmet dropped on the floor with a resounding clank. The feeling had returned; a feeling she felt with increasing frequency since the incident three days ago, the feeling that made her afraid to sleep. It had returned, and it was stronger than ever.

She lifted her head, looking into the full-body mirror. She saw her eyes. Her irises had become exaggerated; thick, conspicuous ovals that shrunk the pupils to nothing. They spread outward, covering most of the white. They had changed color.

They were now blue.

A pale, lifeless blue she had seen before, on the eyes of fellow kids who were themselves pale, and lifeless. The sense slammed home in her mind. She knew exactly what was happening to her. It would brainwash her into an enemy of the KND, of everything she stood for. She felt it shifting and ripping in the most sensitive part of her entire being; her mind. She felt the things that she enjoyed, things she wanted never to forget being pulled away and discarded, to be replaced by efficient logic, conformity,

and hate.

"No!"

She struggled against the unnatural tide flowing through her mind and addling her senses. As she pushed against it, she felt a slight amount of progress in beating it back. Resisting it felt like moving something her full strength was barely able to budge. When she did get it to move, it wasn't clear, tangible movement, but rather, her efforts merely caused it to fold and squish into itself like foam. She pushed it away as far as she could, reclaiming precious areas of her irreplaceable mind. But at the end of it, she was completely spent. The invading force waited for precisely as long as could be considered a bit of time, before striking back in full force. It spread through her mind with a vengeance, sweeping aside all she progress she made. It wrested control with more power than ever.

Another, different energy made its way to the area of her mind she could feel. As her thoughts became torn and divided, it slipped free. She didn't know what it was, but it was clearly oblivious to the invading energy. She felt she wanted to know what it was. But she didn't have time. Frantically, she took out a small, handheld rod from her sleeve. The rod had a big camera lens on the top end. She aimed it at her face, and squeezed.

A powerful flash came out the lens, entering through her eyes and producing a harmless tap on her brain. The invasive energy subsided, becoming dormant again. She gathered her senses, breathing heavily. She stayed bent over on her knees and hands, taking all the time she needed to calm down. She looked at the flasher in her hand. It was a recommissioning device, a rare item capable of restoring a person's mind and memories to a previous state, thereby undoing any mind-altering effect that happened in the past, but it was only a temporary solution. Every time she used it, the invasive energy manifested again later, stronger, and sooner each time. She speculated she had an hour, at most, before it came back. She picked up her helmet and got back on her feet. "I just need to last a little longer. After this is done, after I've settled the past, then, I'll see to the future."

_Soon, everything is going to change._

It came as a voice in her head, under ordinary circumstances, hearing it would confuse and startle her, yet now, in her state of mind, she saw it as a simple conversation partner, "when that happens," she whispered, "I'll handle it."

* * *

A large digital clock was mounted on the upper wall of the hangar. It indicated the time to be about fifteen minutes before the decommissioning.

"So, yeah, this is a real ship," said Number Fore-winds, "Is this this thing... funny, or what?"

"It's... interesting," said Number Two, "but I wouldn't say funny."

"It's just, It's just so..." he prickled his fingers at each other with spastic anxiety, "petty."

"Petty? Are you sure we're looking at the same ship? Whoever made it clearly put a lot of effort into it."

He slammed the railing, "That's what I mean. It's like spending a million plates to build the world's biggest manure pile."

"What!" Number Two looked genuinely offended. "Alright, we're having a debate. I can't take your slander lying down."

He looked over to Number Two, slowly forming a grin. He shook his head, "You don't know what you're challenging, Two."

"We're doing this. Your move first, Fore-winds."

"Alright," he turned to directly face Number Two, resting his right hand on the railing, "when the guys who made this thing told me it was a real ship, I laughed my butt off. I thought it was meant for that; you know, humor. But then, they showed that they were serious. I can still see the introverted reverence on their pasty little faces. This is more a shrine than a ship. A shrine of the same insignificant caliber as a shrine to Barney, Elvis, or Bill Cosby would be."

"Ah, but they did it because they had a passion for it. It doesn't matter what it is on the broad scheme of things. What matters is what it is in their hearts. If you can't recognize that, you're ignorant."

"Any simpleton or weakling can devote their entire being to something. In fact, they can do it more easily than bigger people. Therefore I must judge what, specifically, they've commited to, as it is the only standard in this scenario that isn't one-dimensional zealotry."

"Agreed, let's focus on the ship itself. But it's clean until proven dirty. Specify negative aspects on it or hold your piece."

"Gladly, I assert that there's no aesthetic in this ship design worth replicating. It's mildly realistic, and gray as my granny. Any judgement that believes it worth trying to replicate is clearly delusioned. They're replicating a second-rate Sci-Fi prop."

"But the appeal isn't in the ship itself. The value they're truly projecting is its story; the story of her captain and crew, multiple crews, in fact. A ship doesn't have to look great to have an interesting tale to tell." This is it, thought Number Two, I've got him. He can criticize the ship as a prop, but there's no way he can criticize the story surrounding it.

Number Fore-Winds bent his head down, gripping his forehead with two fingers, after a long half-minute of thought, his head snapped up again, "time!"

"Time? Are you making some kind of weasel tactic?"

"No, time!"

"What do you mean, time?"

"Is it timeless? This object, this replica, this attempt at emulation parked beneath our feet. Will it stand the test of time? Will future generations recognize any value in it?"

"Its story is timeless."

"But are the story and model entwined? In the distant future, when they dig this up, are they going to have the same context as the people who built it? When they see this ship, is the story that gives it its true merit going to magically pop into their heads? No, it isn't, therefore the true merit is in the story alone, not the ship. That the ship is a tribute to the story is irrelevant; it was misdirected. If they truly wanted to express fandom toward the story, they should have grasped what, at its core, truly gave it value. But instead they chose to focus on a surface element that serves, not as evidence of something greater, but merely as a reminder to those who have already experienced it." This is it, thought Number Fore-winds, there's no way he can counter that. They had agreed to center their debate on the ship, and he just proved the problem with it. His case was airtight. Unless his opponent could bend reality, there was no way he could put a hole in it.

Number Two thought for a moment. He ticked the seconds by with tapping on his cheek using an index finger. He shook his head, smiling, "no."

"No?"

"No."

"Why no?"

"In the distant future, if somebody dug up that ship, and there was no correlation to the story behind it. It would still have an effect on whosoever saw it. Because everybody would already be aware of the story. In the future, it will have become an inseparable part of human culture. They won't need to know the details. Seeing the likeness of that ship will, in everyone, at the very least produce an effect of vague importance."

Fore-Winds lifted an eyebrow, "do you really think it'll become that big? That... dogmatic to people?"

"No question about it."

"Hmph, we shall see. Consider this debate on hold until the future."

"No, I don't want to put this on hold."

"Seeing the future for oneself is the only way to know it. Neither of us can truly prove our points until then."

"But I want to resolve this now. I don't want to leave this half-finished."

"You want resolution. You want certainty. These things are utterly distinct from wanting to know the truth."

"I think you're just afraid of losing."

"All I care about is the truth. When a true debate ends, both parties benefit. Unfortunately, we can't resolve this particular debate, and also keep it true."

Number Two paused, gripping his chin with one hand, "Careful and methodical, and yet you're a pilot? You must be a huge coward at the helm."

"Hey, low blow, man." He pointed his finger at Number Two, "I'll have you know that I've never been shot down by enemy fire."

Number Two's face pent up, then, incapable of holding it in, he burst out laughing. "You've never been shot down? I bet they call you Tail Pipe, 'cause that's all they ever see of you." His laughter intensified.

Fore-Winds grinned, "close, they actually call me the shrinking dot."

They both laughed.

"Hey, Two, Your CO is here."

"What?"

"Your sector leader, she's coming over here."

"How could she possibly know I'm here?"

"It's not like you came here in disguise, she must've asked around."

Number Five approached them with apparent haste. A heavy looking bag was slung over her shoulder. She looked to her left and right as she walked, as if afraid of being watched. She came up to them. "Numbuh Two, we need to talk."

"Sure, Abby, what is it?"

"On the way to the decommissioning, it's gonna start soon."

He looked over at the clock on the hangar wall, "ah, shoot, you're right."

"Abby?" Interjected Number Fore-Winds. "Number Two, this is that girl you were talking about just now?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Two, you were just talking about how you like this girl."

Number Two became stiff as stone. He looked at Number Fore-winds, who was smiling a smile only he could see.

"Aww, no, Hoagie. Have you been talkin' behind my back?" Said Number Five angrily, smiling a smile Number Two couldn't see.

"Yeah," said Fore-winds, facing Number Two with a confrontational stance, "you don't talk about people behind their back, it's not cool."

"Maybe I'd like to hear what you have to say about me, so come on, spit it out."

"Yeah, Two, grow a spine, tell the girl how you feel."

Five and Fore-winds both had invisible grins on their faces. They focused their attention entirely on Number Two.

"I can't believe this, why don't you say something for yourself, Hoagie?"

"Yeah, Two, you have to own up for what you obviously did here, in the real world."

"Well? Don't keep me in suspense."

"Man up, Two, man up!"

"I didn't do anything!" Number Two threw his arms out, and lifted his head back as though bursting from a shell. If his eyes were visible underneath his flight goggles, they would be angry. He looked at Number Five, "I don't want to hear about this again. It's obvious what you're deliberately doing, and I don't appreciate it." He turned to Number Fore-winds, "and you..." He pointed his finger at him, "I hope you had fun with this, because now, you're on my list." He slid the tip of his thumb along his neck.

They were silent. Number Five began clapping. She shook her head, smiling. Number Fore-winds lifted his head, with his eyebrows raised, "Two, that, was, great! Congratulations, you officially have a backbone."

"You don't gotta say nothin' to him," said Number Five, "he now speaks for himself." She turned around, "but now it's real talk, walk with me." Number Two followed. Number Fore-winds followed as well. Number Five glanced at him, still walking, "why are you coming? Don't you have an aerospace corps to look after?"

"They all have it off until the decommissioning is over. I'm interested in what you're doing. Mind if I tag along?"

They rounded a corner of the catwalk, coming into a beeline toward a door out of the hangar.

"Wait a sec," said Number Two, "Number Five, you're talking as if this disruptive punk is in charge of the aerospace corps."

"He is."

Number Fore-winds shrugged when Number Two snapped his head to look at him, "not a promotion I think I deserved, but Three Sixty Two said I was," he made fingerquotes, "the only prudent element in a unit full of reckless hotshots."

"So she promoted you for being a coward." Said Number Two.

"Number Fore-winds pointed an index finger upward, he had a smug smile, "for being prudent."

"If you're a pilot, they're the same thing!"

"Numbuh Fore-winds," said Number Five, ignoring their argument, "before I let you in on this, there's something I need to know."

"And what might that be?"

"Numbuh Three Sixty Two, what do you think of her?"

They went through the door at the end of the catwalk, entering into another room. The room had a rounded, protruding wall on their right. The protruding wall was the inner wall of a spiraling ramp. It had the ramp going up on its right, and down on its left. Straight ahead of them could be seen transparent blast doors leading to the catwalks of a different hangar. On their left were a pair of corridor entrances with a chili dog stand set up between them. Number Five led them to the left, passing the chili dog stand and entering one of the corridors.

"The supreme leader?" Said Number Fore-winds. "Now, see here, there's no way she could be a mole."

"Just answer my question," said Number Five.

"Her dedication is beyond question. She once ate through a mountain of broccoli to protect the KND. Afterward, she was in a coma for two weeks."

"I know that, everyone knows that. But what I need to know is your personal opinion."

"Very well, In my humble evaluation, in light of my promotion, she's certainly a good judge of character. As for ability, If Two Seventy Four, her predecessor, was Vader, she would be Sidious."

"You're a War Stars fan," said Number Two.

"I do believe it's better than Homotrek."

"Why, you-"

"Children!" interjected Number Five, "I said we're having real talk. This could well be an emergency, Numbuh Fore-winds."

"Yes, my fair lady?"

"If Numbuh Three Sixty Two ordered you to dive into the center of the Asparagus Sea for no reason, would you do it?"

"I would sooner form a splinter cell, assimilate the entire KND, and have her relieved of her post."

"Good answer."

"But I don't see that scenario ever happening, she would never give an order so irrational. I'd basically be rebelling against a completely different person."

"I don't understand it either."

"Abby, what's bugging you?" Said Number Two.

"She's been acting weird, I mean, why would she order Numbuh One's decommissioning only a week after he vanished?"

"Oh," said Number Fore-winds. "She's doing that to give him a proper farewell from everyone, there's no shenanigans there. You yourself reported him gone for good."

"Yeah, I get that, but why do it at this particular time?"

"As opposed to... what, Tomorrow? Yesterday?"

"Another week from now."

There was a pause as they walked together silently. Number Five shifted her bag to her other shoulder.

"Ahh, I get it," said Number Two. "An operative has to vanish for at least two weeks to be considered officially gone. It's only been one week since he disappeared."

"Exactly," said Number Five. "Why would she expedite his decommissioning by just one week? It doesn't make sense."

"That is indeed an anomaly," said Number Fore-winds. "But it doesn't make a case on its own. You gotta have something more."

"I do," said Number Five. "Yesterday, and the day before that, my sector hasn't been given any missions."

"How could that even correlate to Three Sixty Two? It's not like she constantly micromanages mission assignments."

"That's true," said Number Five. "But in this case, I think she did. I think she deliberately kept missions away from sector V."

"Perhaps you haven't been given any because you lost an operative. They could be putting you on standby until you're fully manned again."

"That would be a solid excuse, except that we pulled off the Bargate Academy mission without a hitch, and that was three days ago."

The corridor they traveled through came to a section where it was transparent everywhere except the walkway. Most of the moonbase was visible beneath them. Above, there could be seen nothing but Earth and the stars. The corridor took a clearly visible route toward the auditorium. The Auditorium was the widest segment of the entire moonbase. It was like a tower that, in its beginning stages, constantly invested early into greater width, that it might be all the more vast when it grew tall. But when it finally did grow in height, it only made it halfway. Most of the auditorium's roof was taken by a massive, transparent dome.

"You have a point," said Number Fore-winds. "It isn't like her to not capitalize on an element that's proven itself dependable. But she's extremely busy, maybe she just didn't notice?"

"I thought that, too, until she mentioned it to me in conversation."

"You talked to her? She didn't try to stick you with Number Thirteen, did she?"

"What? No, why?"

Number Two got pent up, about to burst into laughter. "I see, Number Thirteen is in the Central Aerospace Corps."

Number Fore-winds sagged, "his transfer is tonight."

"Man," said Number Five, "your unit is starting to sound like a dumping ground."

He put his hands together, lowering his head in a begging posture. "Five, please, I'll literally pay you to take him off my hands."

Number Five made a devious smile. "Sure, but it'll have to be more than the cost of a new holding cell, expenses, you understand."

"You'd keep him locked up?"

She took out a bottle with her free hand, taking a long drink. She exhaled after swallowing. "Locked up, bound, and gagged. And I'd do a cavity search on him every few days."  
"Wow, Abby, you don't take chances," said Number Two.

"Let's get back on topic now," said Number Five.

"Yes, about that," said Number Fore-winds, now sober. "you need more evidence to pin any form of shenanigans charge on Three Sixty Two. It isn't even reasonable for you to come to a conclusion with what you have."

"I have something that might clarify everything." She looked to her right, "Numbuh Two."

"Yes?"

"Do you have a DNA scanner?"

"Yeah, my plane's on-board computer has one, why?"

"That's all I need to know."

"What's your plan?" Said Number Fore-winds."

Number Five looked at him, "Look, it's none of your business. You've been actin' all friendly, but I've seen your record. You're like Numbuh Thirteen, only smarter, and by extension more disruptive and difficult to pin down."

He frowned, "I..."

"Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not getting on your case. You haven't done anything bad by me. But you'll understand if I don't trust you with real info."

Number Fore-winds had his eyes closed. After a moment of tension, he opened them. He stepped ahead of Numbers Five and Two as he spun around and walked backwards. He smiled and spread his arms. "My fair lady, if you want me gone, you only need to say so." He stopped walking, and clicked his shoes together. His shoes sprouted wheels, causing him to roll ahead of them with growing speed. "Ta ta," he said as he waved at them. The corridor ahead all went downhill, forming into a downward spiral that ended at the auditorium building. He disappeared from view very quickly.

"So, now that he's gone," said Number Two. "What is your plan? What do you need a DNA scanner for?"

Number Five stuck her free hand under her hat, with a resounding rip sound, she pulled out a tiny, metal case. The case had a sticky side with red residue from her hat. She handed it to Number Two. "There's a single hair inside this, I want you to have it scanned after the decommissioning."

Number Two put it in his right side pocket, "you got it. Hey, Abby?"

"What?"

"What's in the bag?"

She switched the heavy bag to another shoulder, "Nothin' you need to be worried about."

Number Two knew her to sometimes act on a need to know basis. This was her way of saying the information was need to know, and he didn't. He didn't mind it, though. They descended down the spiral section leading to the auditorium.

"Hey, Hoagie, I got a question."

"Okay, shoot."

"These shoes you made, how do they know exactly when to grip and when not to?"

"Ah!" He smiled and pointed his finger up. "I'll admit they're actually late-stage prototypes. Have they ever misinterpreted your situation?"

"Not once."  
"Then I think I can safely call them version one-point-oh."

"That's great and all, but how do you do it?"

"Simple, by looking into your heart."

Number Five faced away, scratching the back of her neck. "Hoagie, what the holler are you talkin' about!"

"What!" He said defensively, "I just said they monitor your pulse."

"Oh... I see."

"What do you think I meant?"

"N-nothing."

Number Two paused for a second, "...do you want to talk about it?"

"No!"

They neared the end of the spiral; the auditorium. As they entered the vast building, they spotted Numbers Three and four approaching them from the left. The room they were in was an unremarkable intersection. A titanic metal blob was partially visible from this room. It seemed oblivious to the formation of rooms and corridors surrounding it. A door led into the blob from the room. Rows of seats were partially visible beyond it. The room was crowded by an influx of kids arriving to attend."

Numbers Two, Three, Four, and Five formed in a circle.

"I'm glad you're all here on time," said Number Five. She paused for a notable second, "Let's... all go find seats."

They didn't move.

"I can't do this," said Number Three. "I feel as though if I go in there..."

"No longer a kid next door, he really will be gone forever." Said Number Two.

"Guys..."

"It's not just that," said Number Four. "Everything we did together, all of our past adventures..."

Number Three shook her head, "It'll feel like we've put it all behind us."

They remained silent.

"Listen to me," said Number Five. "I'm not going to correct anything you said. What you guys said is true. If we go in there, we'll be acknowledging him as a part of the past. The past is such because it's made entirely of things you don't have anymore. I won't try to convince you this is in any way pleasant, however."

They lifted their heads to look her in the eyes.

"We can't walk away from this. We're his friends. We have to see him off in every way possible, and afterward, we have to feel the emptiness left by his absence. If we don't do that, it'll be as though he meant nothing to us." She walked past them, toward the auditorium main. "We can meet this head on, or regret forever the decision, no, the indecision, not to."

As she entered the auditorium, they followed.

The aftermath to the earthling they knew was coming to an end.

* * *

Number Three Sixty Two checked her watch, noting the decommissioning had started. She felt the lift push her at high speed up the dark shaft. The shaft brightened, and the lift slowed, signifying she was near the top.

"Atten-shun!" called Number Eighty six's voice as the lift reached the top.

She emerged, suddenly making eye-contact with every kid at the auditorium. A sea of faces were pointed at the stage, at the center of which she stood. She didn't see a single empty seat. The KND had a bigger auditorium on earth, but the decommissioning of operatives was always done at the moonbase. She was flanked far off at her sides by six armed members of the decommissioning squad. She raised her fist in the air, "Kids Next Door rule!"

"Kids Next Door rule, sir!" Answered the crowd in unison.

"At ease, everyone." She walked to the edge of the stage. "As you all know, this gathering is for the decommissioning of one of our comrades. And that comrade, is Kids Next Door operative Number One, leader of sector V. As this is the wake to his leaving the KND, everything he's done as one of us, all of his significant actions will be presented, and he will be held accountable for it all, good and bad." She paused briefly before continuing. "His list of exploits is far too long to begin to mention. Anybody who knew him personally can attest to his unwavering, and relentless dedication to our cause, to the well-being of kids everywhere." She surveyed the crowd to her left, then to her right. "I am here personally, at his decommissioning, to say a few things. Firstly, that it was I who ordered that he be decommissioned, before his thirteenth birthday, and by no violation of the rules on his part."

This caused the room to erupt with murmuring. It quickly rose to a steady hum of noise.

"I ordered his decommissioning because he is gone, forever."

The room quieted, it's mood quickly becoming sober.

She continued, "one week ago, he fought against the Delightful Children From Down The Lane, and knocked them into the giant flushing toilet bowl. This is the part of the story most of you probably know. What you all probably don't know is that he fell into the bowl himself, sharing their fate. Recent evidence indicates this to have happened. This is nothing less than an honorable decommissioning-no," she corrected herself, "a hero's funeral."

She paused for a second, letting it sink in before continuing. "But he is not completely lost to us. Among his many accomplishments was the rediscovery of the book of KND." An assistant came out on the stage. He carried a reinforced metal box. As he approached Number Three Six Two, he turned a key on the side. The box opened, and he presented the contents to her. She took an old looking book out of the box. The covers were battered and repaired by unorthodox methods, but the book as a whole was in good shape.

"This book," she continued, "is the last line of defense for all kids in their struggle against evil adults. It was the original teacher for the first kids next door of our age, and a testament to the abstract reality that what we stand for, is nothing less than timeless. The book contains an area for kids who battle adult tyranny to record their stories, that they never be forgotten." She was aware that her words probably seemed redundant to a lot of the kids present, but she learned that when you talk to a large crowd it isn't a big deal. "Number One left words, left his story in the book." she held it in her open palm, standing it on the spine. This caused it to open in her hand. "His story is this, five words only. We, are, Kids Next Door." She close the book and placed it in the box. The assistant closed it and locked it as he carried it away.

She surveyed the crowd again. She was on a lower elevation than most of them, but she had entered a mindset where she didn't exist. There was only them, and her anonymous mind speaking to them. "Things that a person values are not taken, or discovered. They are created. We, are, Kids Next Door," she smiled, "I've not heard wiser words." She turned and began pacing, not taking her eyes off them. "The heroes that we see in cartoons, video games, and comics, they all live in a world where nothing ever happens until somebody shows up, and begins making things different, making things change. When these people cause the world to change, it is always in a bad way, that serves only their own, shortsighted goals. The heroes battle against them, they struggle, driven by the conviction that their enemy cannot be allowed have their way. Eventually, they triumph, and at the end of the day, their world, and themselves are back to exactly the way they were before the problems happened, the status quo, restored. The heroes are happy with this, they're not like us kids, they don't know how to want more." She stopped pacing, and faced them all at once. "We, the Kids Next Door, are not like those heroes. The evil we battle against is already a more regular part of our world. Our enemies are an old, traditional establishment, with the excuse to assert that those who resist them are rebels and contrarians who don't want peace and don't stand for anything. That is why we're different from those heroes, we do not fight to preserve the status quo, but to change it. Unlike their cause, ours requires courage, character and conviction to uphold. We, are, Kids Next Door. Let those words, and the legacy of the hero who wrote them be an inspiration to all of us."

end transmission

**This chapter was getting a bit long, so I ended it here. **

**This is a story I need to write. It sits in my head, and I can't ignore it.  
I'll post the next chapter in the near future.**


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